François de Canson: 'The weight of silence on your 17-year-old shoulders'

Every year, the Région Sud organizes a study trip to Auschwitz-Birkenau with high school students from Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur, as part of its "Mémoire et Citoyenneté" policy. For the school year 2025-2026, 10 establishments were selected, including 5 from the Académie de Nice. This system is the subject of a three-year agreement with the Mémorial de la Shoah, supported by an annual regional funding of €127,000, allowing more than 350 high school students and members of the Parlement Régional de la Jeunesse to participate each year. For these high school students, the trip to Poland transformed a history lesson into a responsibility to carry, as François de Canson recounted: 'They left in the heart of winter, in the biting cold of Poland. High schoolers, notebook and pen in hand, as if on an ordinary school trip. But in the silence of the plane taking them to Cracovie, a tension floated. In their minds, black and white images, dates and names learned in class. Auschwitz. A word, a concept, a dark page in their textbooks. They were about to set foot there, and nothing could prepare them for the shock of reality.'

GATES OF HELL

The vice-president of the Région adds: 'The first contact is an icy blast. Not just from the weather, but from History. The bus parks, the doors open to a silence that teenage laughter no longer dares to break. Before them, the infamous inscription: "Arbeit Macht Frei". The gate of Auschwitz I. Suddenly, the history lesson is no longer an abstraction. The red brick walls, the barbed wire drawing cruel lines in the grey sky... everything is there. Léa, a final-year student in Toulon, squeezes her friend's arm. "It's... real. I don't know why, but in my head, it was like a movie. Now, it's right in front of us." The visit begins, steps are slow, almost solemn, on the ground that so many others trod for the last time. Block after block, the horror takes shape. Behind the glass cases, mountains of suitcases, children's shoes, glasses, hair... Entire lives reduced to objects. One and a half million people. The figure, so often heard, explodes into a myriad of shattered destinies. Each worn shoe, each suitcase where a name is still legible, tells a story. The anonymity of statistics fades to give way to faces. Emotion overwhelms. Tears flow silently down the cheeks of young people who, just a few hours ago, were worrying about their next exams. The guide stops, his voice is calm, but his words weigh a ton.'

OPEN-AIR ABYSS

Puis vient Birkenau. Le changement d'échelle est un coup de poing. Une plaine immense, glaciale, balayée par le vent. La voie ferrée s'enfonce jusqu'au cœur du camp, jusqu'aux ruines des chambres à gaz et des crématoires dynamités par les nazis dans leur fuite. “C'est ici que l'industrie de la mort a atteint son paroxysme. En se tenant sur la rampe de sélection, là où le destin de centaines de milliers de familles s’est joué en quelques secondes, le vertige prend. L'esprit ne peut concevoir l'immensité de la haine organisée. Le poids de ce lieu s’abat sur les épaules de ces jeunes de 17 ans. Ce n'est plus de la tristesse, c'est une prise de conscience écrasante”, a rappelé François de Canson. Dans l'avion du retour, l'ambiance a changé. Le silence n'est plus de l'appréhension, il est habité. Chargé de ce qu'ils ont vu, de ce qu'ils ont ressenti. Ils ne sont plus seulement des élèves. Enfin, l'élu de la Région a insisté : “Ils sont devenus des témoins. Non responsables du passé, mais responsables de l'avenir. Le « Plus jamais ça » n’est plus un simple slogan. C’est une promesse murmurée dans le froid polonais, une dette morale qu'ils porteront en eux. Une leçon que ni les livres ni les films n'auraient pu leur enseigner, gravée à jamais par le silence d'Auschwitz”.