Stumbling Stones in Holocaust Memory: Gunther Demnig’s Stolpersteine

Translation: Here lived Dr. Otto Spiegel, born 1886, arrested 13.3.1938, escaped to France 1938, death 1943. All images belong to Author.

Walking to work in Graz, I passed by the Technische Universität, the Rechbauer Cinema, the Stadtpark. I saw the Opera House and the marketplace at Kaiser-Josef-Platz. I saw buskers, skateboarders and the city going about its everyday business. As I went on my way, I also came across the names Dr. Otto Spiegel, Karl Drews, Franz Schwarzl and Irene Ransburg. These names have one thing in common: their owners all fell victim to the Third Reich. Across these four streets, tiny shards of the Holocaust can be pieced together. Jewish, communist, gay, disabled— all groups targeted by the genocide, all victims, all immortalised through the small brass tiles placed outside their former houses— their Stolpersteine.

German artist Gunther Demnig laid the first Stolperstein in 1992 on the 50th anniversary of the Auschwitz-Erlass, the decree legalising the murder of the Sinti and Roma. These small brass plates represented a different approach to state-sponsored memorials. The name Stolperstein alone expresses a sense of criticality towards German Vergangenheitsbewältigung— the process of coming to terms with the mistakes of the (implicitly Nazi) past. Literally translated, Stolperstein means stumbling stone. Metaphorically, this can be understood as a stumbling block, something that needs to be carefully thought about and processed accordingly. In the context of the Nazi past, however, this term acquires a racial subtext, as nazis would remark that ‘a Jew must be buried here’ when stumbling over protruding stones. Demnig therefore reappropriates a prejudice and recasts it as a tool for remembrance. By inscribing the name, date of birth and the date and place of death, he is symbolically bringing the victims back to their neighbourhoods and, stone by stone, giving individual faces to the 13 million victims of the Holocaust.

This retelling of the genocide through personal or family narratives represents a distinctly different approach to that of the large memorials created by the German government. The Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in Berlin is one such example. The 2,711 blank concrete slabs resemble coffins or tombstones and draw attention to the magnitude and anonymity of the Holocaust. In recent years though, the memorial has fallen under criticism as critics have complained that, without the title, it would not be clear what the memorial was for. A further scandal arose when influencers began to take playful shots alongside the symbolic tombstones, indicating a shocking distance between the viewer and those being remembered. This is precisely the opposite effect required in German Vergangenheitsbewältigung. Moreover, critics have argued that ‘places of memory both remember pasts and encrypt unnamed, yet powerfully felt, absences.’ These state sponsored ‘national’ places of memory may therefore conceal the past as much as they reveal it, its victims being lost to the anonymity of mass-memory.

Demnig’s Stolpersteine, in contrast, make it impossible to distance yourself from the Holocaust. They cause individuals to ‘stumble over genocide’ in their everyday life. In fact, these small brass plates are only visible from close up, so the very act of stopping to read them forces you to immerse yourself in individual memories of the Holocaust, to imagine yourself walking the same streets as those who died. This has provoked varying responses from different parties. Some people are against Demnig’s Stolpersteine. They argue that Germany has already expressed adequate remorse for the Holocaust and has built enough memorials. Besides, according to some ,’Jews didn’t live in our area.’ City government officials, including those in Munich, have even gone as far as to block Demnig from laying his stones. Others, on the other hand, sanctify the Stolpersteine, viewing them as a sacred tool to remember the Third Reich’s victims. Their families also often cite a sense of closure once a stone has been laid. The Holocaust is clearly still a contentious issue in the German cultural landscape, arguably indicating the continuous need for Demnig’s personal approach to memory.

Alongside this personal approach to memory, the Stolpersteine also encourage active acts of remembrance. The stones are largely researched and financed by victims’ families, donors and school groups who come to understand the Holocaust in a more personal way. This grassroots approach therefore starkly contrasts the passive consumption of memory culture at national memorials. They raise vital questions about the best ways to remember the victims of the past, from state-funded memorials to temporary exhibitions and striking art installations, to each of Demnig’s 75,000 Stolpersteine. These questions will continue to plague Germany and Austria, as current and future generations grapple with their inherited memories. There is arguably no perfect approach to memorialisation. People will always remember in their own way. Next time you are in Germany, Austria, or one of the other 21 Stolpersteine countries though, keep an eye out. You might find your own Otto Spiegel, Karl Drews, Franz Schwarzl and Irene Ransburg.