In April of 2016 I attended the Saskatoon Holocaust Memorial service. As survivor Nate Leipciger spoke of his horrifying experiences in a Nazi death camp, and his ongoing efforts to educate and shed light on these atrocities, I was struck anew by the extent of abuse the human spirit can endure. Holocaust survivors are elderly and dying. Indeed, one gentleman who was part of this project has since passed. There will soon be no first-hand accounts of this dark historical event. After hearing Nate speak, I felt I needed to somehow acknowledge these extraordinary people who endured and survived unbelievable mistreatment. Holocaust survivor Robert Waisman, who meets with Indigenous survivors and talks about his experience at Buchenwald, speaks of “a sacred duty and responsibility” toward helping residential school survivors heal. He states, “we cannot, and we should not, compare sufferings. Each suffering is unique…I don’t compare my sufferings or the holocaust to what happened in residential schools. We did it [survived] – so can you.” The struggles and generational trauma of Indigenous peoples caused by the residential school experience seems to resonate with Jewish holocaust survivors. Indian Affairs Superintendent Duncan Campbell Scott, in 1910, called residential schools “The Final Solution,” preceding Hitler’s similar pronouncement regarding the “Jewish problem.” Separating families, cutting hair, taking away names and assigning numbers were methods of dehumanizing and othering. Interestingly, both groups of sur- vivors have connected around strategies of survival and healing. This was part of what motivated me to include residential school survivors in this project. The other part of my motivation came from my place as a settler in Saskatchewan, whose history is notorious regarding residential schools. Making space to hear that history and those stories was part of my personal steps toward the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s calls for action. By expanding this project to include residential school survivors, I hoped the act of listening and bearing witness would deepen my understanding of the Indigenous experience and trauma right here, where I live. The project title is a quote from Greek poet Dinos Christianopoulos: “They tried to bury us. They didn’t know we were seeds.” My hope is that this work will give viewers a chance to encounter a survivor they may never meet. One personal story often has more resonance than statistical abstractions, no matter how appalling. As numbers of holocaust survivors dwindle, and in anticipation of the same eventual loss of first-hand accounts from residential school survivors, these portraits will remain as a legacy, echoes of individual strength and courage. The painted portrait is a true meeting of two subjectivities, requiring a unique commitment and sustained effort, building intense familiarity and intima- cy with the face of another. Sketches, photographs, and interviews with very generous survivors who were willing to collaborate on this project resulted in this series of eighteen portraits. This number is significant in Jewish tradition as representing the Hebrew word “chai,” which means “life.” Empathy involves understanding the pain and joy of others as being equal to our own, leveling us within the human experience. This project explores trauma, ongoing recovery, shared pain, and the indomitable human spirit, as well as an enduring hope that, through truly hearing one another’s stories and accepting deep in our bones that we are connected, humanity will someday be characterized more by its compassion than its capacity for cruelty. Carol Wylie, 2020
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