Picture this: a filmmaker from San Francisco crafting a documentary that unearths a chilling, overlooked chapter of World War II, only to ignite fury from Europe's far-right factions. That's the electrifying tale behind 'Among Neighbors,' and it serves as a stark warning about how easily historical truths can become battlegrounds in our divided times.
At first glance, Yoav Potash's creation seemed destined for a standard spotlight in the world of documentary filmmaking. His work delves into a grim episode of WWII, blending animation with firsthand accounts to scrutinize the verified atrocities where hundreds of freed Jews were slain by their Polish neighbors in the immediate aftermath of the Holocaust. For context, this wasn't just any incident—it's backed by thorough documentation from reputable sources like Yad Vashem, highlighting specific tales that bring the horror to life.
But here's where it gets controversial: Poland is currently dominated by the staunchly right-wing Law and Justice party and its supporters. When the public broadcaster TVP aired the film and made it streamable last month, it didn't take long for the political machinery to rev up. A top aide to President Karol Nawrocki declared that a network bearing 'Polish' in its title shouldn't broadcast such content, while others threatened to revoke TVP's broadcasting license entirely.
This uproar shines a light on the way even meticulously researched history can turn explosive in an era of right-wing populism. It echoes, perhaps unsettlingly, Donald Trump's crackdowns on non-conservative media outlets in the U.S., framed as patriotic measures. Even Poland's version of the FCC has jumped into the fray, investigating the broadcaster.
And this is the part most people miss: despite the endless cycle of Holocaust narratives in popular culture, even essential retellings of that dark era can morph into hotly contested disputes today.
'As expected, sadly,' Potash shared with The Hollywood Reporter. 'My documentary is caught up in a decade-long effort by Poland's far right to sanitize World War II history. Any portrayal of Poles as anything less than pure victims or valiant heroes is like touching a live wire—they react explosively.'
Although Poland's administration has shifted to center-left under Prime Minister Donald Tusk—formerly the European Council president—the ultra-conservative Law and Justice party retains considerable clout, securing the most parliamentary seats in the 2023 election. This summer, their endorsed right-wing contender and Tusk's fierce rival, Nawrocki, clinched the presidency, making him the nation's second-most influential figure.
Potash poured years into crafting his film, focusing on the village of Gniewoszów and two survivors with an improbable bond: Pelagia Radecka and Yaakov Goldstein, both featured in contemporary on-screen dialogues with Potash. To immerse audiences in the characters' perspectives and reconstruct unfilmed scenes, the San Francisco-based director used a surreal animation style that rivals acclaimed documentaries like 'Waltz with Bashir.'
The project won early grassroots acclaim, including a buzz-worthy screening organized a year ago by Nancy Spielberg. It debuted at the Santa Barbara Film Festival a few months later, followed by limited theatrical runs in New York and Los Angeles, bolstered by funding from USC's Shoah Foundation and the Jewish Story Council. It's even Oscar-eligible and slated for wider release on International Holocaust Remembrance Day, January 27, across various cities.
The film received positive feedback in its setting's home country too, with a successful showing at the Warsaw Jewish Film Festival last year and eventual adoption by TVP.
Yet, Agnieszka Jedrzak, Nawrocki's deputy, slammed it on X as 'an anti-Polish distortion of history,' reiterating the broadcaster criticism. Her post garnered over 4,000 likes and more than 300,000 views.
Meanwhile, Poland's National Broadcasting Council—similar to the U.S. FCC—is probing TVP, potentially jeopardizing its license. Agnieszka Glapiak, the council's chair and a Law and Justice ally, initiated an 'explanatory proceeding' and demanded documents justifying the film's inclusion.
TVP's representatives didn't respond promptly to inquiries, but the outlet told Polish media outlet Wirtual Media it plans to keep airing the documentary. The film's aim, they stated, is 'to educate viewers on the nuanced Polish-Jewish relationships, encompassing uplifting and courageous moments alongside tragic ones.'
As Poland's oldest and largest public broadcaster, TVP faced heavy backlash during Law and Justice's tenure for morphing into a far-right propaganda tool—criticisms echoed in reports from outlets like The New York Times. Under Tusk, it's been steered toward moderation.
Some Polish critiques nitpicked details; for example, Jedrzak questioned on X, 'Aren't you disturbed by how the animation portrays Poles under occupation? With fiery red eyes, they betray, spy, and hunt Jews.' Potash counters that he was simply narrating an intimate, layered history.
'A core focus is the shadowy reality that, mere months after the Holocaust, so many Jews were killed upon returning from camps—it's the heart of our story,' explained Potash, the director behind the acclaimed 'Crime After Crime.' 'This wasn't isolated; it happened elsewhere. Yet, we avoid stereotyping all Poles; not everyone desired Jewish deaths. Heroes existed, sympathizers too. The film couldn't have happened without Polish collaboration.'
Modern Poland wrestles with surging antisemitism. Last month, far-right MP Grzegorz Braun, a notorious antisemite, spoke outside Auschwitz, proclaiming 'Poland is for Poles; Jews have their own nations,' likening them to Hannibal Lecter. He delivered this on the anniversary of the 1941 Jedwabne massacre, where 340 Jews were burned alive by locals. Moderate leaders condemned his words. A recent report noted a 67% spike in antisemitic incidents in Poland for 2024, compounded by a law penalizing anyone who links Poland to Holocaust crimes with jail time.
Potash praises TVP's resolve to keep the film available amid these tensions.
'Poland's deeply fractured,' he observes. 'It might seem confusing until you compare it to America's divides over Trump and policy battles—it makes it clearer.'
Potash didn't directly reference the U.S. government's media targeting or outlets' varied responses, but the parallels are glaring. San Francisco critic Dennis Harvey remarked in a review that 'it's a compelling work, especially timely as our leaders seem keen to erase uncomfortable U.S. history.'
Though appreciative of Jewish group support, Potash is puzzled by the U.S. mainstream's indifference—no major festivals, no reviews from The New York Times or Los Angeles Times, no streaming deals—despite positive word-of-mouth and his solid documentary reputation. (The Hollywood Reporter hailed 'Crime After Crime' as 'a gripping tale of enduring injustice amid L.A. District Attorney corruption.')
Still, some reviews surprised him. Film Threat, for instance, critiqued the Holocaust focus by noting, 'Israel's actions in Gaza make sympathy for Jewish suffering tricky now. Potash's effort is sincere, but timing might not be ideal.'
Poland has been confronting its postwar legacy through cinema for years. Pawel Pawlikowski's 2015 Oscar-winning 'Ida' masterfully explored Holocaust discussions in Communist Poland. Unlike Germany's quicker reconciliation, Poland's path was slower due to its dual role as victim and collaborator, complicating simple good-vs-evil narratives. Access to wartime truths has been restricted over decades, from Cold War censorship until 1989 to Law and Justice's recent eight-year rule ending in 2023.
'It's understandable why some cling to the myth of Poland's innocence, rejecting uncomfortable facts for patriotism,' Potash says of the backlash. 'I hope this signals the end of that tired defense. Time will tell if I'm being overly hopeful.'
In essence, 'Among Neighbors' isn't just a film—it's a mirror to society's struggles with truth and identity. But here's a provocative twist: could emphasizing Poland's complicity in Holocaust-era violence actually fuel modern antisemitism, or is it a necessary step toward healing? And in our polarized world, where does the line blur between patriotic protection and censorship? We'd love to hear your take—do you side with the filmmakers exhuming these truths, or with those guarding national pride? Drop your thoughts in the comments and let's discuss!
