A couple of years ago, I interviewed an incredible man – Siegmund Siegreich. Siegmund, or Sigi, is a Holocaust survivor. He was fifteen years old when Germany invaded Poland – when he was placed into a concentration camp. The next six years of his life were spent enduring endless humiliation, beatings, starvation, serous illness, not to mention seeing family members and friends killed, shot, and left for dead right in front of him. When I sat to talk with Sigi, at 88 years of age, the pain of his ordeal – one that he managed to survive – was evident every time he spoke about it. He, along with his wife and two daughters, cried their way through the interview.
It was one of the hardest but most incredibly special moments of my life. Made more so by the fact that Sigi was the biggest gentleman I’ve ever met – he was kind, graceful and intelligent. He was humble and proud and strong.
His book, The Thirty Six, written almost six decades after his time in war-torn Poland, changed my life. I read it almost entirely in one sitting. I cried, nearly threw up, felt rage, felt sadness and felt love. I often think of what I learnt from that book, and I often think of Sigi, and his kind, weathered face, and the love he had for his family.
I thought of Sigi today. As a man who lived through every horror imaginable, I wondered what he’d think of the protests in Canberra yesterday, and the burning of our flag. I wonder what he’d think of so much hate being spouted – from protestors and commentators alike.
Sigi was a man, who was only a boy, when he saw his father die. And his mother. And uncles. And aunts. And cousins. And neighbours. He was a boy who had to sleep through the bitter cold, in a lavatory shed, in his own faeces, where the stench of urine penetrated his every pore. Of the Holocaust, he said, “People may think the world knows enough about it, but to understand the enormity of it all would shake humanity to the end of time.”
When I asked Sigi if he hated the Germans for what they did to him and his family, he replied and said, “No, I do not. You cannot hate an entire race of people, for the mistakes only a handful of people within that race have made…
I have seen the devil in men, I have seen my family members shot, I have seen them smile, wave and walk off, never to return, I have been starving, frightened, frozen, petrified…but I have seen the beauty in people. I have felt love and I know there is good in the world.
Hate is a waste. We just must never forget what has happened, so as to ensure it never happens again.”
In 1971, Sigi migrated to Melbourne, with his wife and both daughters, sponsored and backed by a friend.
“We finally set down roots in a truly free and democratic country, where our family has prospered and multiplied.”
I know that the actions taken by a minority in Canberra yesterday were not right. Nor was the action of burning the Australian flag. I am reminded of words I heard from Sigi, “You cannot hate an entire race of people, for the mistakes only a handful of people within that race have made…”
And I think how true that is.
I am sorry for what happened to every Indigenous Australian when white colonial men settled this country.
I am also sorry for Sigi, and everything he endured, and did for decades and decades after his ordeal. I am sorry for what his children endured, and continue to. And what his grandchildren endure, and will continue to.
I am also sorry for my parents, who migrated to Australia at such a young age and had to trudge through years and years of racism, bullying, misconceptions and harassment – all because of the sound of their surname and the contents of their lunch box.
My parents never gave up. They never gave in. They made something of their lives.
Sigi never gave up. When every single thing in his life went against him, when everyone he loved was taken away from him, when he was buried face down in a dirt pit, hiding under the body of a dead Jew to avoid being shot himself, he did not give up. When he was made to dig his own grave, he did not give up. He fought and gripped onto life.
The scenes in Canberra yesterday made me think that we – all of us – can and should find a way to reconcile the past, so we can live, truly live, united together.
If Sigi can forgive, why can’t we?