Anlässlich des fünfjährigen Jubiläums unseres Förderprogramms JUGEND erinnert international hat die Stiftung EVZ einen Fotowettbewerb mit dem Titel „Traces of Memory” für die Teilnehmer:innen der geförderten Projekte ausgeschrieben.
Entdecken Sie hier die zehn besten Fotos und die Geschichten dahinter.
© Vira Dranhoi
First Place
Title: Silent Prayer for the Forgotten
By Vira Dranhoi
Kneeling by the mirrored surface of the memorial in Berlin dedicated to the victims of the genocide against Roma and Sinti, a young man closes his eyes and folds his hands in prayer. White and red roses, gently resting at the water’s edge, bear silent witness to the moment — symbols of innocence and the blood that was shed.
This photograph was submitted by Vira Dranhoi, a participant of the project "Memory Ambassadors: Training Young Multipliers to Preserve Roma History and Holocaust Remembrance", implemented by the Kherson City Association of Young Roma. The picture was taken during a youth commemoration in Berlin, where participants — many of whom are descendants of survivors — gathered to honour the victims and reflect on their shared history.
“For me, this minute of silence was both a deeply personal and collective act of remembrance, linking the pain of the past to the responsibility of the present. The image captures not only grief, but also resilience — a quiet promise that the memory of those who perished will endure, and that the history of Roma and Sinti will never be erased. It is more than a single moment; it is a bridge between generations and a call for peace and human dignity.”
Second Place
Title: Between Past and Future
By Iryna Nehrii
"August 2 is the day we commemorate the victims of the Roma genocide. On the night of August 2–3, 1944, the Nazis murdered the last more than 4,000 Roma in the so-called "Gypsy Camp" at Auschwitz-Birkenau. This place remains a silent witness to that tragedy. And it is here, decades later, that we — young Roma from Ukraine — stand with flags that symbolize our two identities: Ukrainian and Romani.
In this photograph, we are seen from behind, because we are not only looking into the past, we are walking forward. We carry the memory of the Roma genocide into the future so that it does not remain only a story in history books. Today, the Ukrainian flag symbolizes our nation’s struggle against a new war and aggression, while the Roma flag represents our thousand-year history of survival and resistance, which continues to inspire us even now, in times of hardship.
This image speaks of unity and responsibility. Unity of generations who honor those whose lives were taken here. Unity of two identities that carry within them the pain of war, discrimination, and loss. Responsibility — toward the past generations of Roma who became victims of genocide, and toward those today who fight for the right to live without fear, to be heard, and to preserve their culture.
To stand with these flags in Auschwitz-Birkenau means to say: we remember, we live, and we will speak about this forever. For us, memory is not a burden, but a source of strength. It becomes a tool for fighting for rights, for freedom, and for a future in which Roma children will not be afraid to call themselves Roma.
This photo is about moving forward. About a generation of young Roma from Ukraine who do not forget their roots, yet look to the future with dignity. We are living proof that even in the place where the Nazis once sought to erase an entire people from the earth, life continues, voices are heard, and flags still fly."
Third Place
Title: Burst of shade
By Oleh Prelovskyi
"This photo was taken by me during a tour around the city of Görlitz within One History – Many Stories programme. For me, it seems as the most touching and illustrative picture. Since there's no Jewish community now in Görlitz the only remainder of this page of city history is the cemetery itself. It shows how the Second World War with all the consequences impacted the life of the city, of families, dynasties, their culture, way of life, heritage, etc. It shows maybe the glorious past or the doomed future. It us a demonstration of ties between one person and their hometown, drastic changes, and elimination of it all due to the deeds of One. Such eradication can occur, can be – and usually are forced upon prosiness of life however it's rarely possible to erase traces of them completely.
It even inspired me to write a short poetical story.
When shades are gone
You never know who stood behind
And to them all
Your empathetic soul has howled;
They screamed, they cried to very last
Second of their breath.
Yet no name were listed, no souls were saved
I see all troubles blown away,
So no need to wait,
...and you just wait"
Title: Bergkristall
By Luise Klemann
"My photograph shows the quarry of the former concentration camp Groß-Rosen, a place that was central to forced labor, marked by unimaginable hardship. The image is abstract, difficult to date, and could be read as either archival or contemporary. This uncertainty reflects how memory itself works: shifting between past and present, documentation and perception. My motivation to join the project One History, Many Stories came from my own family history. My grandfather, who died before I was born, was imprisoned in a labor camp. I wanted to understand more about this reality, not in abstract terms but in concrete images of daily life. The idea of transgenerational trauma accompanied me throughout this process: how experiences that are not directly ours can still leave deep marks. Parallel to my work I was reading Georges Didi-Huberman’s „Images in Spite of All“. His insistence that we should not resign ourselves to the idea that these events are “unimaginable,” but instead confront what images make visible, deeply resonated with me. Standing before the quarry, I suddenly felt that something shifted. The unimaginable became tangible. Like a missing piece falling into place. This moment was formative for me, and it continues to shape my artistic practice and my way of working with memory today."
Title: The Whispering Bench
By Lana Milešević
"This photo was taken during a sightseeing city tour as part of the exchange project between Sremski Karlovci and Potsdam/Berlin, where we worked on a film about women partisans and the resistance against fascism. It shows the participants gathered around a so-called whispering bench – a stone bench where, if you whisper on one side, your voice can be heard clearly on the other.
At first glance, the picture seems playful and not directly connected to the theme of our film. But for me, it carries a deeper meaning: just like the bench transmits a whisper across its surface, our work transmits stories, memories, and experiences of the past into the present and towards the future. The bench itself is very old, and most likely “listened” to the history we now reflect on – it even survived the very fascism we were discussing. In that sense, being there felt like listening to the history itself.
What I value most about this project is not only the serious work on heavy historical topics, but also the way we built a community through laughter, friendship, and everyday moments. We came together as individuals from different countries, but became a group able to talk about resistance, memory, and freedom – while also keeping the lightness of humor and trust among us.
That is why this photo, although it looks simple, symbolizes the essence of the exchange for me: remembrance is not only found in solemn discussions, but also in how young people today build bridges to each other, and find ways to make even the most difficult themes alive, close, and human."
By Roberta Petraškaitė
“I took this picture inside the Memorial on the site of former Salaspils Camp (1941-1944) in Latvia during the study trip “Unknown Past? A Journey to Jewish Life and Holocaust Sites in the Baltics” on 24 July, 2025. This picture resonates with me personally because of my work experience at the Ninth Fort Museum, which is part of the larger memorial complex that includes a monument commemorating the Holocaust victims. That monument, however, cannot be entered. For this reason, I was surprised to discover the Salapils Memorial, where the exhibition is integrated into the monument itself and can be accessible from within. The concept was new to me and deeply fascinating. The exhibition felt both informative and telling. The picture I captured carries a mystery: it is hard to grasp the place, but it also evokes feelings of coldness and restraint, shaped in part by the brutalist style. To me, it also conveys the challenges of Holocaust remembrance: its legacy can be hard to fully grasp because of its brutal nature.”
By Said Ramin Rahimi
"A short emotional text by Said Ramin Rahimi:
Name: 186 Steps of Death
I put myself in the place of a worker in Mauthausen.
I am still on the first step.
It feels as if I am drowning, as if I no longer exist in this world.
As if I have become 186 years old—the same number as the “stairs of death” in Mauthausen.
Since the moment I entered Mauthausen it feels as if a block of stone has been placed upon my shoulders, and with every moment its weight grows heavier.
As if the twentieth century itself has come.
As if I have traveled back into the past, climbing these steps, and with every step I come closer to death—a slow but certain death!
Now I am on the tenth step, and my breath is slowly failing. I am a worker, but condemned to death!
On my file it is carved: “From work to death!”
I climb these steps like those who carry corpses upward, except this time I am carrying my own corpse.
I walk faster so that I will not fall behind—perhaps behind the march of death itself!
I slow down for just a moment,
and I am whipped so savagely that I forget myself—like history has forgotten me.
I have reached the fiftieth step!
I feel sick even from the sound of -ler,
like Hitler and Himmler!
My breath is caught, my back bent, but still I continue, because I am forced to—
forced like all the other workers, building prisons with our own hands and feet for ourselves and for other human beings.
But I am forced to continue! To continue toward death, not toward life!
Last night I slept only five hours, just five hours in the middle of the camp.
All night I thought of my mother, who used to say: “God loves good people.”
But where is God, and where are the good people who cannot see me?
Perhaps God too has sadism, perhaps He enjoys the suffering of us workers, since He does not stop this slaughter. The God my mother spoke of!
Only yesterday, before the eyes of my mother’s God and all, a handful of workers who could no longer work were gunned down in the middle of Mauthausen, and others were beaten so savagely that they never breathed again.
I have reached the hundredth step, and now I breathe only with great difficulty.
My back is more bent than ever, and sweat and pain have conquered not only my body but my very soul.
My eyes can see no longer. I want to climb the next step, but I do not know—do I climb it for life, or for my own death?
For if I reach the 186th step, I will be killed; and if I fall back, I will also be killed.
I can no longer go on. I let go—I let go of the stone,
I let go of myself.
For the stone on my shoulders
is my gravestone.
Said Ramin Rahimi"
By Sofija Sofrenic
"My photo shows two male portraits that were created as a result of being in the concentration camp "Topovske šupe". Listening to the stories about the victimized camp inmates, I got the idea to paint them and bring them to life in some way, so that their forcibly extinguished lives would not be reduced to just mere information. They are painted on plexiglas, and as you can see on the photo, they could easily be moved around the camp, as if the victims are forever captured in that space. Now, having a potential face to the information, helps the observers visualise and actually realize that the people that suffered here were as real as anyone else they know."
Title: The Eye on Memory
By Gabriele Solidoro
"This photo was taken during the project "From Memory to Action" in the room where all the names of whoever was killed at the Mauthausen Concentration Camp were written. Originally, the meaning I gave to that photo was that the light was a "Sunset of Genocide", or "Sunrise from Memory" which are equally beautiful interpretations that adds up to the meaning of the photo, as all the names in that fashion seems a black sea. However, I ended up calling it "The Eye on Memory" to make it more grounded and viewer-centered: instead of seeing a sea of horrors, from which you can pass and look away, you see your own reflection/eye looking at the traces of what happened, which has in itself more reflective power. As you look away from the depiction, the ghost of memory inside you won't."
Title: The Silence of Stolen Horizons
By María del Pilar Montaño Villaseñor
“Taken at Ravensbrück Memorial, this image portrays the heavy and desolate atmosphere where individuality, dreams, and futures were brutally destroyed. The walls and the overcast sky symbolize confusion, loss, invisibility, and the distortion of future plans. Yet, at the end of the path, the solitary tree stands,silent but unyielding,as a reminder of the resilience of those in concentration camps, where life and the desire to dream endured even in places marked by destruction.”
