Packed to the brim with people and possessions, the Fiat 126 containing Jola Wieczorek and her family crossed the Austrian
border in March 1989 after driving from Poland. The Iron Curtain dividing East and West was still theoretically in place,
but the political situation had eased to such an extent that Poles no longer needed a visa to travel abroad. Austria became
the new home of the Wieczoreks. DAYS YET UNKNOWN is a very personal look into the past, when the young family left home behind
and embarked upon a "better" future, which turned out to be an existence somewhere “in between”.
The title of the film could refer both to the future and the past. Were you at a point in your life where you didn't want
to look forward without glancing back?
JOLA WIECZOREK: I am basically a person who often looks back and poses the question: What if? We wouldn't be the people we are without our
past, without the times we encountered a crossroads and chose one direction rather than the other. I think people from a migration
background are particularly inclined to look back with a feeling of nostalgia. My mother liked to collect objects and stories
from the past. I have inherited that tendency. It’s often said that we have to understand the past to avoid making the same
mistakes again. But it seems to me that – unfortunately – we always end up in similar emotional worlds. That interests me.
What are the emotions we dock into at different moments in life, where do connections form – which give rise to understanding
and empathy and thus transform the way we deal with fate?
Were there specific questions that prompted you to go on this voyage of remembrance with your parents and your brother?
JOLA WIECZOREK: One motivation was the desire to establish what plan my parents had when we left Poland. When my mother fell ill, it was
clear that I had to start searching for answers right away. It was a race against time to get the footage with her as quickly
as possible. Another factor related to the fact that I was pregnant and the question of what I would be able to tell my own
son later. If I don't understand what happened, how could I explain it to the next generation?
How old were the members of your family when you set off for Austria? What was the political situation in Poland at that time?
JOLA WIECZOREK: We left just before the fall of the Berlin Wall; my parents were in their mid-thirties, I was six, and my brother was three.
There had been some initial signs that political changes were in the air. Nobody could have foreseen the complete collapse
that actually came about. It was no longer so hard to travel to the West as a tourist. As long as you had nothing in your
past that was politically suspect, you could get a passport. Previously, in the early 80s, travelling abroad was impossible
without party connections or a certain sum in your account, in US dollars. Later, the borders were relaxed, but it was clear
that the economic situation in Poland wasn’t going to improve so quickly.
The opening sequence uses Super 8 images, followed by alternating digital and analog images. What visual principle or camera
concept was behind this approach?
JOLA WIECZOREK: It was supposed to be a mosaic: a collage of past and present, of staged and documentary scenes, together with archive footage
comprising an additional level. We shot in Super 8 when there was something of the past in the present. Super 8 represents
moments of remembrance. We filmed the other scenes in classic documentary style. The third element was the archive material.
The pictures from Austria were primarily intended to show the ideal family that we would have liked to become. A classic family
in Upper Austria that had everything we lacked: a safe, warm home, opportunities to go sledging and bake cookies ... At the
same time, these images also depict society as we found it when we got here. In the 80s, the Salzkammergut had not yet been
conquered by mass tourism. It was a closed society with rites and customs that were completely incomprehensible to us. It
was all simultaneously appealing and daunting, and also bound up with the question of whether we could ever become part of
a society like that.
In the credits, you list public archives and private collections; you have told the story of your escape through pictures
of different people and different families as well. Did you also feel it was important to tell the story of other Polish families
– and ultimately portray the migration experience per se?
JOLA WIECZOREK: It was extremely important to me that we should confront the universal aspect of our experience, especially the upheaval
of leaving home and setting your sights on a new one. That’s the common denominator in all migration stories. I hope a lot
of people who have been through similar experiences can see their stories reflected in small things. In fact, I originally
wanted to weave a lot more stories together, although early in the editing process I realized we had to focus on my family.
But part of the challenge was finding a way to connect the different material, so it becomes a story.
DAYS YET UNKNOWN is about reconstructing memory. Which methods did you use in order to revive these recollections?
JOLA WIECZOREK: I am convinced that places, objects or even landscapes can trigger something in you, if they were associated with feelings
at an earlier point in time. I thought memories are revived much more beautifully when there is direct contact with things
or places. I came up with the format of a road trip because my mother is so prone to nostalgia; I looked for places that resonated
within our family, and I took albums and letters with me. At a time when my mother was starting to forget, those objects were
an anchor for her. There was briefly a plan to film in the real Traiskirchen refugee camp, but I was afraid of provoking retraumatization.
I had the idea of recreating places like Traiskirchen very early on. I wanted to create an artificial superstructure and slightly
fictionalize the place which has been taken over by trauma. The intention was to create distance by not making a 1:1 replica.
After all, our memory goes through filters and changes, too. I wanted to play with that.
Was it only through the work on this film that you became aware how painful the migration experience must have been for your
parents?
JOLA WIECZOREK: Absolutely. Until I made this film, I hadn’t been fully aware of how brave they were. They may have been naïve, too. I think
it took quite a lot of guts to take that risk. They plunged into the complete unknown. Europe was much larger than it is today.
Because of the east/west divide, Austria seemed like a different universe. Until they were in their mid-30s, my parents were
only allowed to travel in the Eastern Bloc. Bulgaria or Hungary, when things started heating up. Going to West Berlin or Paris
was unthinkable. There were no mobile phones, no translation apps. My parents didn't speak English, only a few words of German.
They had to trust people to be honest with them. They set off without knowing where they’d be a year later: in Sweden, Canada,
Australia or back in Poland – with two children, one elementary school age. I don't think they themselves completely comprehended
the sacrifice they’d have to make in order to give us a better future. I felt it was important to create an understanding
of just how hard it is to begin all over again. Making a new start in a new culture takes an incredible effort, and even more
so when you feel responsible for the children you have dragged there with you.
You say that your childhood apartment in Poznań was the last place where you felt at home. Your film communicates the point
that emigrating entails an arrival, and a life in a state of transition – but also that this state is itself the new home.
JOLA WIECZOREK: I don't think the state of transition can be avoided. There are phases in my life when I feel able to exist quite well with
a foot in both camps. Then there are other moments. When my mother got sick, the ground under my feet started to feel unstable
again. It helps that I now have a family of my own, which is my anchor. My family is a colorful mix – my partner is Spanish,
our son has dual citizenship, and he’s growing up trilingual. We live in Vienna, but we also spend a lot of time in Spain.
We enjoy that, but at the same time I sometimes wish I had a place to call home. Maybe I never will. Accepting this is part
of a process that probably never ends. In any case, my films help me deal more intensively with the feeling of being in between.
And when I put out feelers into other artistic genres, I see that a lot of people feel the same way nowadays. In the past,
it was more unusual. Now we’re more inclined to ask: Who stays in the same place all their lives? Today, that's almost exotic.
Did this intense work in a personal context differ a lot from your previous film work?
JOLA WIECZOREK: It was extremely challenging emotionally. I felt a certain responsibility to do justice to my parents. I wanted to show something
that would reflect their courage, their perseverance and the effort required, while also making them proud. So I had created
enormous pressure for myself. It wasn't easy for me to see myself on screen, to edit myself, to cram my own story into a cinematographic
arc. I was very grateful that my partner Rubén Rocha supported me so much as editor and someone I could always exchange ideas
with about the project. Hanne Lassl, the production manager, and Klemens Koscher, the cameraman, also gave me constant encouragement.
Without those people, I wouldn’t have been able to make this journey. My mother's state of health had already become very
unstable by the end. If I’d known at the beginning what the circumstances would be when we were finishing the film, I might
not have gone through with it. Seeing what was happening to her was one of the hardest things. There’s a Polish song Days
We Don't Yet Know, which we couldn't use, unfortunately, but it defined the approach we took: to venture into uncertainty
and embrace the unknown. In the course of my research, I contacted a lot of Polish people who ended up in Canada or Australia,
and we had long conversations over Zoom. It was really fascinating to hear how their stories ended. They have lived another
possible version of our lives. Maybe that will be a sequel.
Interview: Karin Schiefer
December 2025
Translation: Charles Osborne
