I wanted to post this picture of Kurt Klappholz age 15 (who I knew later as Proffessor Klappolz). I found it online. It was taken a few months after he was liberated from Buchenwald concentration camp. The picture was done to help him try and see if there were any other surviving family members. I knew him once I got to university in the 1990s. He was a Professor of the philosophy of economics at the LSE. Though my connection to him was far more that he was the residential warden of LSE’s Rosebery Hall of Residence where I lived. We got on well, chatted, and he even actually asked me to come and spend a second year in that hall as I’d been a ‘responsible student’ (no cool points for me) which I did, and was very grateful for. I don't remember speaking with him about his concentration camp experiences - though its was oft muttered by students in relatively hushed tones on the occasions when we glimpsed the number tattoo on his arm. And I know, if you search the internet, you’ll see his oral testimony. When Kurt passed, a few years after I left Uni, I like many other former students went to the funeral to show respect. Today On #HolocaustMemorialDay he’s one of the people I thought of. Yet I am always minded that almost all the recollections and stories we hear are, by definition, from survivors. That leaves millions of tales of jews, romani, those with disabilities, Slovenes, gay people and many more forever unheard. So as the years tick by, for all those unmet who perished in deliberate, industrial, death camps, I hope we remember.