"How Schindler's List (1993) Tells the Story of the Holocaust and Preserves History"

In the vast canon of films that attempt to grapple with the Holocaust, Steven Spielberg’s Schindler’s List occupies a singular position, not just as a historical account, but as a profound meditation on memory, morality, and the human capacity for both evil and good. Released in 1993, Schindler's List is much more than a cinematic retelling of the atrocities of World War II; it is a visceral, poignant exploration of how history is preserved—both in the telling and in the living. Spielberg’s decision to focus on Oskar Schindler, a German businessman who saved more than a thousand Jewish lives, serves as an unlikely entry point into one of the darkest chapters of human history. What results is not only a story of one man’s redemption but a reminder of the absolute importance of remembering and bearing witness to the atrocities of the past.

At its core, Schindler’s List is not just about recounting events. Spielberg does not settle for simply presenting the historical facts; the film works to embody the lived experience of the Holocaust. Through the eyes of Schindler, as well as through the many Jewish characters who pass through his factory, the film creates a narrative that is felt as much as it is understood. The absence of color in the cinematography—which contrasts with moments of poignant visual emphasis, such as the haunting appearance of the little girl in the red coat—forces the viewer to confront the grim reality of the Holocaust as something inescapable, something that belongs to history, and yet continues to live within us.

The decision to cast the film in black-and-white is not just an aesthetic choice but a deliberate act of historical preservation. In a cinematic world increasingly obsessed with hyper-realism, Spielberg instead chose a form that recalls the archival footage of the era. In so doing, the film evokes the power of memory itself—the grainy, monochrome footage of the past, preserved for posterity, and now reframed for modern viewers. This aesthetic choice allows Schindler’s List to transcend the realm of traditional historical drama and ascend into the realm of memorialization. The film is as much about collective remembrance as it is about individual heroism, bringing the past into dialogue with the present in a way that demands both reflection and reckoning.

The hero at the center of Schindler’s List, Oskar Schindler, is an unlikely one. He is not a saint or a man of ideological conviction, but rather a flawed opportunist who, over time, becomes something more—a symbol of the possibility for change, even in the midst of unspeakable violence. As portrayed by Liam Neeson, Schindler’s evolution is deeply human. His transformation from a war profiteer focused on personal gain to a man willing to risk everything for the lives of his workers speaks to the complex moral choices individuals must make in times of great inhumanity. Schindler is not portrayed as a saint, but rather as a man who faces the overwhelming weight of his own complicity and makes the excruciating decision to act. The poignancy of Schindler’s journey is underlined by the stark realization that he is not the exception but the anomaly; his ability to defy the tide of cruelty and become a symbol of moral courage is what makes his story so vital to history.

Yet the real power of Schindler’s List lies not just in Schindler’s personal evolution, but in its careful attention to the fate of the Jewish victims. Each character—be they the workers in Schindler’s factory or those trapped in the ghettoes and concentration camps—is more than a statistic, more than a number to be counted in a ledger of human loss. Spielberg's careful focus on individual lives humanizes the horror, ensuring that the tragedy of the Holocaust is not lost in abstraction. The experiences of people like Itzhak Stern (Ben Kingsley), the Jewish accountant who becomes Schindler’s trusted ally, or the haunting image of the young girl in the red coat—her innocence symbolizing the untold numbers of children lost—remind the viewer that the Holocaust was not just a historical event, but the destruction of human lives, dreams, and potential. Through these characters, the film gives face to the millions who perished, inviting us not only to witness their suffering but to understand that, in the end, the tragedy of the Holocaust is a tragedy of the loss of humanity.

Moreover, the historical weight of Schindler’s List cannot be overstated. The Holocaust, in its staggering scale, is often unfathomable in its cruelty. The systematic extermination of six million Jews and countless others in concentration camps challenges comprehension, leaving the world struggling to make sense of the incomprehensible. Spielberg’s film does not attempt to explain the Holocaust in tidy, rational terms. Instead, it offers an emotional reckoning—a painful, deeply human confrontation with the reality of genocide. Schindler’s List doesn’t merely provide an account of the atrocities; it places them before us in such stark terms that we are unable to turn away, unable to forget. In doing so, the film ensures that history is not a passive recollection but an active confrontation with the past, a lesson that we must never forget. It is a profound act of preservation, ensuring that the horrors of the Holocaust are not relegated to the annals of history, but are kept alive in the minds and hearts of each generation that follows.

This is, in many ways, the gift of Schindler’s List—its preservation of memory, its dedication to telling stories that might otherwise be forgotten. The film asks a simple yet crucial question: How do we preserve the past? How do we ensure that the millions who perished in the Holocaust are not lost to history’s cruel erosion? The answer, in Spielberg’s film, is clear. Through art. Through film. Through remembering not just the names of the dead, but the lives that were stolen. Through the faces of the survivors, and the testimony they offer to future generations.

In the decades since its release, Schindler’s List has become a cornerstone in Holocaust education and remembrance. Its message has only grown more urgent, as survivors pass on, and the threat of history’s erasure becomes more imminent. As much as it is a work of cinema, Schindler’s List is an act of preservation. In capturing the horror of the Holocaust and the quiet heroism of one man’s moral awakening, the film ensures that history will never be forgotten. More than that, it asks us, as viewers, to reckon with our own capacity for both cruelty and compassion. It is a testament to the idea that, in the face of incomprehensible evil, the ability to preserve humanity is itself an act of resistance.