MONTREAL — To mark the 70th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts (MMFA) is presenting the educational exhibition Anne Frank – A History for Today from Jan. 8 to 28. Organized by Anne Frank House in Amsterdam, this exhibition has been shown in more than 60 countries around the world.

Concurrently, a dozen haunting black and white photographs of the Auschwitz-Birkenau site taken last year by renowned Hungarian-born Montreal photographer Laszlo Mezei are also on view.

The subject is in stark contrast to the portraits of important people and celebrities Laszlo – as he is known professionally – has taken over the decades. They have included hundreds of titans of industry, from Conrad Black to Paul Desmarais Sr., and politicians from Pierre Elliott Trudeau to David Ben-Gurion, as well as personalities in the arts, sports and entertainment worlds. Oprah Winfrey sat for him, as did Canada’s most renowned portraitist Yousuf Karsh.

But the Auschwitz project has deep personal meaning for Laszlo, who immigrated to Montreal in 1956. The Holocaust scarred his family, as it did hundreds of thousands of others in Hungary, and had a profound effect on his early life.

You are internationally renowned for your stunning portraits of the rich, the famous and the powerful. Why did you decide to turn your lens on Auschwitz, the very antithesis of the beauty and vitality you normally capture?

I had been thinking for years about doing a photo essay at Auschwitz in memory of those who perished there. After a lifelong career of, as you say, producing portraits of beauty and vitality, I went because I wanted to contribute, in my own way, to the important and endless fight against forgetfulness. It’s a fight not just against forgetfulness, but against the deniers – those who insist the Holocaust never happened and whose fondest wish really is to bring about a second Holocaust. The world can build museum after museum, and construct memorial after memorial, but the deniers will go on denying, and their denial will find willing ears. That’s why individuals like me, using what means we have, should never, ever, stop reminding the world of what went on at Auschwitz.

In what way were you and your family affected by the Holocaust? Do you have a personal memory of that time?

In 1943, I was four years old when a group of thugs with the Arrow Cross – Hungary’s equivalent of the Nazi party – took away my father to a slave labour camp. We never saw or heard from my father again, and we never learned how he perished. My mother, sister and myself were saved from the Holocaust by Christian friends. Until the end of the war, we lived with them in the countryside, on their farm.

How emotionally draining has this project been for you? Was there a point where you thought you couldn’t keep going?

I was at Auschwitz-Birkenau for the better part of three days. You don’t get hardened to the atrocity. The realization of the meaning of the place, the incredible inhumanity of it, only strikes you deeper. You could easily fall apart, and falling apart would be right and proper. I nearly lost my composure a number of times. But I had to stay focused in order to achieve my goal. Most people will never visit Auschwitz. Let them know it, then, through exhibitions like this, which offer a vision of what the Holocaust meant.

How were the arrangements made? Did the Auschwitz authorities give you immediate and unfettered access, or did it take some negotiation?

I was not restricted in any way. Arrangements were made for me by a Polish photographer, a friend of mine in Warsaw. The uncomplicated access that the Polish authorities provide is a tremendously positive thing. They now supervise visitors only to the extent of preventing theft or vandalism.

How many shots did you take? Why black and white?    

I took almost a thousand shots. And to best show the drab awfulness of Auschwitz, the sense of desolation one feels there, the sadness and revulsion of the memories it compels, I felt the photos had to be in black and white.

How was the connection with the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts made? Did it agree to exhibit your photos before you went to Poland, or afterward? Have you previously exhibited at the museum?

I had never previously exhibited with the museum. After my trip to Auschwitz, I sent digital copies of my best two dozen photographs to every member of the museum’s board. I suggested that these photos might comprise a suitable means of marking the 70th anniversary of the liberation of the most infamous of the Nazi death camps. I am extremely proud that the museum has chosen to display my work in association with the Anne Frank exhibit.

The travelling Anne Frank exhibition is primarily aimed at young people. How will your Auschwitz images complement that exhibit and add to the discussion on tolerance that its organizers hope to encourage?

What my photographs are saying, and I hope they are shouting it loudly and clearly, is: ‘Look where intolerance leads. Look at the filth, horror and hell which hatred creates.’ I would think that makes for a suitable addition to the Anne Frank story – a warning to young people, but also an encouragement to make a better world than the one they too often read about in the history books.

What is the future of your Auschwitz series after the exhibition closes? Will they be shown or published elsewhere?

At present, we have no post-museum plans. My hope, of course, is that the photographs will be adopted by an institution or corporation, and preserved for the very reasons I took the photos – to help perpetuate the memory of the Holocaust, and help ensure that “Never again!” does not fade into a hollow slogan.