A Meaningful Gesture of Empathy

Imagine a group of nearly 900 children—frozen, hungry, and sick—lost in the chaos of the Russian Civil War, fighting for survival in the cold, harsh Siberian wilderness. This is not a scene from a disaster movie, but a true story from over a century ago, one we don't always remember. Polish children, descendants of political exiles and workers on the Trans-Siberian Railway, abandoned to their fate, often without adults, at a time when Europe was returning to relative stability after World War I. In this hell, where every day was a struggle for life, hope seemed like a cruel joke—until a gesture surprised the world.

The unexpected savior turned out to be Japan—a country far away, not only geographically but also culturally, which had no previous relations with Poland. The Japanese Red Cross, the military, and even Empress Sadako Kujō opened their hearts and homes to the Polish orphans. In 1920, the first transport of 375 children arrived at the port of Tsuruga, where their fate changed. Children who had stood on the brink of death from starvation and cold in Siberia, for the first time in Japan, ate to their hearts' content, experienced the warmth of heating, and found safety. How was it possible that Japan, unknown to Poles and as Europe struggled to recover from war, offered such help? This story, although nearly forgotten, remains one of the most touching and remarkable acts of international solidarity.

But this is not the end of the story. What happened to these children? How did their lives unfold after leaving Japan (or did some stay)? What place in their hearts remained for the country that saved their lives at that time? These children not only survived but grew up to become ambassadors of friendship between Poland and Japan. Their descendants, scattered around the world, still return to Fukudenkai—the center that became their temporary home—to remind us of the power of the human spirit and how much human solidarity can achieve.

Post-World War I Era

In 1917, Russia stood on the edge of collapse. When the October Revolution erupted, the country, already exhausted by the bloody World War I, plunged into chaos. Brutal battles between the Red Bolsheviks and White counter-revolutionaries raged in the streets of cities, and civilians suffered, pushed to the brink of endurance. Siberia, which had previously been one of the most remote corners of the Tsarist Empire, now became a completely forgotten territory, as the entire nation was preoccupied with fighting. This vast, unforgiving land, where winter temperatures dropped below -40°C, became both a prison and a refuge for thousands of Poles—descendants of political exiles, workers building the Trans-Siberian Railway, and refugees from war-ravaged Europe.

Polish political exiles and their descendants had lived in Siberia for generations, in the shadow of the taiga and harsh mountains. Their ancestors had been sent there as part of Tsarist repressions after national uprisings, and many of them worked on the construction of the monumental Trans-Siberian Railway, which was intended to connect the European part of Russia with the Pacific. After World War I, the number of Poles in Siberia increased, as thousands of refugees fled the devastation of Europe, seeking work and shelter in the vast expanses of Russia. However, their fates changed drastically with the outbreak of the revolution. The civil war, which tore Russia into two warring factions, led to the collapse of authority, economic breakdown, and the spread of terror.

By 1918, when Poland regained independence, thousands of Poles still lived in Siberia, often in dramatic conditions. Those who had survived Tsarist repressions now faced even greater dangers—anarchy, hunger, and disease. Siberia became a trap from which escape was nearly impossible. The road to a reborn Poland was closed, and Bolshevik forces on one side and White armies on the other made every day a fight for survival.

In the face of this tragedy, the Polish Rescue Committee for Children in the Far East was established in 1919 in Vladivostok by the tireless Anna Bielkiewicz and Józef Jakóbkiewicz, a young doctor with a big heart. Their goal was clear: to save as many Polish children as possible, who, like their families, were caught in the heart of Siberia's hell. The Committee, often operating on the edge of its capacity, organized searches for children in orphanages, train stations, and even in train carriages, which had become temporary shelters. Children were gathered from abandoned barracks, streets, and homes that could no longer provide them with safety or care.

Faced with an uncertain future, the Committee appealed for international help, turning to various governments and charitable organizations. Though support was initially slow to come, in 1920, Japan, which had only recently established diplomatic relations with the newly independent Poland, offered its assistance. And so began an incredible story, in which the hearts and homes of the Japanese people opened up to children from faraway Siberia.

Life in Siberia

At that time, Siberia was a terrifying place—cold, merciless, full of death and despair. Poles did not find themselves there by choice but through tragic history, which forever marked their lives—and as a result, they were often entirely unprepared for the conditions they encountered.

Many of the children living there were descendants of exiles, who had been banished to these freezing lands during the Tsarist era for participating in national uprisings. Others arrived in Siberia when their parents sought work building the Trans-Siberian Railway. During the war, on the far reaches of Siberia, children often lost their loved ones—parents died from hunger, exhaustion, or were killed in brutal clashes during the revolution and civil war. Men were forcibly conscripted into the army, leaving women alone with their children. War orphans, left to fend for themselves, wandered the streets, not knowing where to find help, too young to understand why the world they knew had crumbled.

The conditions in which these children lived were nightmarish. The winter winds of Siberia spared no one—they blew into flimsy shelters, stripping people of their last remnants of warmth. In the towns and villages, hunger was rampant, and children spent entire days searching for even a scrap of bread or a still-warm rat. Diseases spread at an alarming rate—typhus, tuberculosis, and pneumonia were everyday occurrences, and access to medicine was virtually non-existent. Often, entire families died from one day to the next, leaving children alone. Those who survived wandered around train stations, trying to board trains that could take them a few miles farther from death. Their faces were dirty and emaciated, their eyes full of despair. Or already dimmed, staring blankly into the distance. There was no one to help them.

In this dark reality, the Polish Rescue Committee for Children in the Far East was a spark of hope. Anna Bielkiewicz and Józef Jakóbkiewicz, driven by desperation and incredible determination, began organizing a rescue operation. Their team traveled through Siberia, searching for those who could still be saved—in orphanages, train stations, abandoned homes, and train carriages. "We gathered children from orphanages, train carriages, barracks," Jakóbkiewicz later recalled. Each child they managed to save was a drop in the ocean of tragedy, but for those children, it meant salvation. The Committee not only organized shelter but also sought funds for transport to Poland—although in the midst of the civil war, this seemed nearly impossible. In 1919, as the war in Russia raged on, repatriation to Poland seemed like an unattainable dream.

Help, however, came from an unexpected source—from Japan, which offered its helping hand when other countries turned away.

A Sudden Turn

Imagine this: the year is 1920, snow blankets Siberia, and smoke rises over the Trans-Siberian Railway. In the train carriages, many of which had long ceased to serve their function, sit children—small, emaciated, their faces pale from hunger and cold. None of them know what tomorrow will bring. But for some, a chance is coming. In secret, amid the chaos of the Russian Civil War, a rescue operation begins.

The Polish Rescue Committee for Children in the Far East, with the support of the Japanese Red Cross, begins heroic efforts. In early 1920, the first transport of 375 Polish children departs from Vladivostok. The ordinary, long-forgotten train carriages, where children had been living until recently, now slowly move toward the coast, where something unimaginable awaits them—Japan. When the train reaches the port of Tsuruga, the sound of sailors' boots echoes from the decks of Japanese ships, and the smell of the sea fills the air. Children, who had known only the cold Siberian landscape, feel for the first time something resembling safety.

The transports from 1920-1922 were a race against time. Trains traveled across frozen Siberia, covering vast distances, risking attacks from both Bolshevik and counter-revolutionary forces. At every step, disaster loomed. For many children, the language barrier was another challenge—few Japanese spoke Russian, and children, unable to communicate, feared the unfamiliar faces, even though those faces brought help.

However, Japan proved to be a savior. The involvement of the Japanese Red Cross, the government, and ordinary citizens ensured that hundreds of children found refuge. A society that had previously known little about Poles opened its doors. In Tokyo, the children were taken to the Fukudenkai orphanage, which became their temporary home. It was there, for the first time in their lives, that they saw not only bananas and rice but also nurses and doctors who fought with dedication for their health. Diseases such as typhus and pneumonia still threatened their lives, but Japan offered what Siberia had denied them—warmth, food, and medical care.

The apple became a special symbol of this story. When Polish children first arrived at the port of Tsuruga, local residents offered them apples—a simple gesture that carried deep meaning for the starving children from Siberia. For many, it was their first time tasting the fruit. The apple, which in Poland is associated with everyday life, became for these children a symbol of salvation and the kindness they encountered in Japan. Even today, this gesture is remembered during commemorations, and apple trees are planted in places connected to the stay of the Polish orphans, both in Japan and Poland.

Fukudenkai, along with other centers, became a sanctuary for children who needed not only medical care but also psychological support. The Japanese Red Cross employed caregivers who spoke German and Russian to overcome the language barrier. The children learned new things every day—not only language-related but also about Japanese culture. They were taken on trips to temples, gardens, and were introduced to life in a country that, at the time, seemed magical to them.

During this extraordinary time in their lives, a symbolic moment occurred—the visit of Empress Teimei, who, breaking protocol, personally visited the orphanage. Despite the risk of infection, she gently stroked their heads, showing them warmth and kindness. It was a moment that many of these children remembered for the rest of their lives—in the midst of the strict court norms, the Empress departed from ceremony to show these children empathy and affection. As a keepsake of this event, she gave each of them small gifts—such as toys and kimonos—and most importantly, memories that reminded them that even in the midst of war and destruction, there are places where people care for one another.

Japan was only a stopover on the road to the children’s final home, but for many of them, it became the place where they regained their childhood—even if only for a short time.

The Involvement of the Japanese

The aid that Japan offered to Polish children was not only a gesture of international solidarity but also a significant financial and logistical challenge. The Japanese Red Cross, in cooperation with the Imperial government, covered most of the costs related to transporting the children from Vladivostok to Japan, providing medical care, accommodation, and education during their stay. In those years, Japan was in a transitional period. Although the economy was growing after the end of World War I, the country struggled with the high costs resulting from involvement in international conflicts and rebuilding its resources. Nevertheless, Japan did not hesitate to provide humanitarian support.

Of course, it must be remembered that at the time, Japan was not a country with an impeccable moral reputation. On the contrary—it was responsible for enormous suffering in countries like Korea, parts of China (Manchuria), and Southeast Asia. The atrocities it committed, and the ones it was yet to commit, were crimes against humanity, and its path to imperialist expansion ultimately led to its alliance with Nazi Germany. This is all true, but does that mean we should not remember the good that Japan did for these children as well?

The costs of caring for the children were not covered solely by the government or the Red Cross. Ordinary citizens, local organizations, as well as Buddhist and Shinto temples, also got involved in the relief efforts. In Tokyo and other Japanese cities, collections of money, clothing, and food were organized. Private entrepreneurs, business owners, and even small traders joined the initiatives, offering products and services for the children. For example, clothing companies often donated surplus fabrics, from which clothes for the youngest were sewn. The aforementioned collections were organized by schools and temples, which became centers of local charity actions.

Japanese students, particularly in Tokyo and Osaka, also participated in collections, donating part of their pocket money to support the Polish children. These small, symbolic gestures showed that humanitarian aid was a collective effort, touching all levels of Japanese society. Articles promoting the campaign appeared in the press, and local newspapers reported on the children’s stories and the progress of the fundraising efforts. In Japanese society, there was widespread discussion about how helping the Polish orphans contributed to building Japan’s positive image on the international stage.

An equally important aspect was the logistics of transportation and medical care. The Japanese Red Cross engaged not only doctors and nurses but also epidemiology specialists, as many of the children arrived in Japan in very poor health. Japan, already developing modern medicine at the time, faced the challenge of treating infectious diseases such as typhus and tuberculosis, which were widespread among the children from Siberia. Hospitals had to adapt to these new, "additional" patients, generating extra costs—but Japan rose to the task.

One of the key moments in the entire process was the visit of Empress Teimei. As the honorary chairwoman of the Japanese Red Cross, she not only supported the organization’s efforts but personally engaged in helping the children, which carried enormous symbolic significance. Her visit to the Fukudenkai center, where she personally appeared—stroking the children’s heads despite the risk of infection—and giving them kimonos and toys, gained wide attention, highlighting the importance of humanitarian actions and Japan’s moral commitment to saving the lives of the Polish children. This event had a profound impact on the Japanese public, which saw how important international cooperation and aid to those in need truly was.

Their Further Fate

After spending several months in Japan, the children, who had regained their strength and health, faced the next part of their journey—this time to the United States, from where they were to eventually return to Poland. The Japanese ships that had earlier brought them to the port of Tsuruga now took them on a voyage across the Pacific to Seattle. There, on American soil, the children underwent quarantine, during which their identities were verified and documents were prepared for their onward journey. In the United States, the Polish diaspora, including Helena and Jan Ignacy Paderewski, became involved in organizing aid. The American Polonia, filled with empathy for their compatriots, supported the children by providing them with food, clothing, and organized care before they embarked on their long journey to Poland.

In 1922, after months of wandering, the children finally reached Poland. Some of them, still weak and in need of further care, were sent to a specially established facility for Siberian Children in Wejherowo. This center was organized with the support of the Polish government and society, and its goal was not only to provide shelter for the children but also to help them adapt to life in a new reality. The Wejherowo facility became a true home for many of them—the children were not only provided with a roof over their heads but also regular meals, medical care, and the opportunity to learn. Education was a crucial element, as many of the children had to catch up on years of neglect and learn the Polish language, which for some had become foreign after a long separation from their homeland.

The facility for Siberian Children in Wejherowo operated until 1928, and during that time, around 300 children resided there. All the residents participated in numerous educational and patriotic activities, developing not only their skills but also a sense of national identity. Scouting was one of the activities that played a significant role in building community and shaping patriotic attitudes. The children took part in patriotic ceremonies, such as paying homage to the ashes of Juliusz Słowacki, which took place in Gdynia.

After leaving Wejherowo, the fates of the Siberian children varied, but many of them chose to actively participate in social and political life. Many of them became involved in the activities of the Far Eastern Youth Union, which was founded in 1929. The Union’s goal was to support former residents of the Wejherowo facility, preserve the memory of their Siberian experiences, and promote Polish-Japanese friendship. At its peak, the organization had over 600 members and ran offices in Warsaw, Vilnius, Bydgoszcz, Chełm, and other Polish cities.

Some of the former Siberian children distinguished themselves in Poland’s political and social life. For example, Jerzy Strzałkowski, one of the residents of the facility, founded the Far Eastern Youth Union, and during World War II, he took part in the September Campaign and led the resistance unit "Jerzyki" during the Warsaw Uprising. Others, though less known, also played important roles in rebuilding Poland after the war, engaging in charitable, educational, and political activities.

How We Remember

The humanitarian gesture of Japan, which saved hundreds of Polish children from the hell of the Siberian Civil War, laid the foundation for a friendship between Poland and Japan that endures to this day. During those difficult times, when the world was engulfed in conflicts, Japan demonstrated an exceptional act of international solidarity. Japanese society, the government, and the Red Cross welcomed children who had no hope of survival in war-torn Russia and neglected Siberia.

The significance of this event is not limited to historical relations. To this day, the story of Polish children saved by the Japanese is commemorated in both Japan and Poland. One example of this memory is Sylwia Szarejko’s book Polskie dzieci w Kraju Kwitnącej Wiśni (Polish Children in the Land of the Rising Sun), which describes the dramatic fate of the children and the great help they received in Japan. This publication is available in both Polish and Japanese, allowing both sides to share this important history. Additionally, various historical works and the memories of the surviving children highlight the profound impact this aid had on their future lives. The memories of survivors, who often spoke of Japan as the place where they regained their humanity and hope, have been recorded in books, documents, and exhibitions.

One of the most important modern places commemorating these events is the Fukudenkai center in Tokyo, where many children found refuge. Ceremonies are still held there today, during which the descendants of Polish orphans meet with Japanese people to pay tribute to their shared history. In 2024, a ceramic relief depicting the Polish children was unveiled there, symbolizing their stay in Japan and the support they received.

The ceremonies were attended by family members of the rescued children, as well as Japanese representatives, including Princess Hisako Takamado. In Poland, commemorations also take place to honor this gesture, such as the planting of apple trees—a symbol of Japanese humanitarian aid, recalling the moment when the children received their first apples from local residents upon arriving at the port of Tsuruga. In Wejherowo, where the Facility for Siberian Children operated, one of the streets was named after the Siberian children, and exhibitions and lessons are held in museums and schools to educate about this history.

In the Japanese museum in Tsuruga, regular exhibitions are held to remind people of this story, and on social media, photos can be found of the descendants of rescued children, who visit the places where their ancestors found shelter.

Conclusion

The story of Polish children rescued by Japan remains an incredibly moving testament to international solidarity. At a time when so many nations were focused on rebuilding their own societies after World War I, Japan opened its doors to orphans from faraway Siberia, demonstrating that help knows no geographical or cultural boundaries. The aid provided by the Japanese, while focused on saving children, had a much broader significance—it became the foundation for a relationship that lasted for generations. This gesture went beyond standard diplomacy—it was a testament to a deep understanding of the human need for care and support.

Today’s commemorations of this history, both in Poland and Japan, remind us that in moments of crisis, small acts of empathy can have immense significance. The visits of descendants of the rescued children, joint ceremonies, as well as numerous historical publications, ensure that this unique bond between nations remains alive.

>>SEE ALSO SIMILAR ARTICLES:

Polonia in Japan: What Does the Polish Community Look Like in the Land of the Samurai?

Poland and Poles in Japanese Anime: How do Japanese Otaku See Us? And Why Does Spike Spiegel Hold a Bottle of Polish Rectified Spirit?

Poles as Pioneers in Research on the People of Hokkaido – Ainu

Maurycy Beniowski: The Adventures of a Daring Pole in Edo Period Japan

The Republic of Ezo – A One-of-a-Kind Samurai Democracy

 A connoisseur of Asian culture with a deep-seated appreciation for various philosophies of the world. By education, psychologist and Korean philologist. By heart, an Android developer and an ardent tech aficionado. In tranquil moments, he champions a disciplined way of life, firmly believing that steadfastness, perpetual self-enhancement, and a dedication to one's passions is a sensible path for life.

Personnal Motto:

"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest."  - Albert Einstein (possibly)

  Mike Soray

(aka Michał Sobieraj)

Contact Us...

Ciechanow, Poland

dr.imyon@gmail.com

___________________

inari.smart

Have insights or feedback to share about the site or the apps? Drop us a note, and we'll be in touch soon. We value your perspective!