DAE Special: Goethe-Institut im Exil Download with Tanya Haurylchyk and Özlem Sarıyıldız

DAE in collaboration with the Goethe-Institut im Exil project had the pleasure to host a delegation of filmmakers newly residing in Germany, introducing them to the local and international documentary filmmaking landscape. In addition to a series of public online lectures, masterclasses and workshops, the filmmakers also attended two onsite activities, at DOK Leipzig’s DOK Industry Programme and also the European Film Market in 2023 and 2024 respectively. As an association, it was a total pleasure and privilege to work with this group of talented, reflective, intuitive and courageous filmmakers. We asked two members of the delegation, Tanya Haurlchyk and Özlem Sarıyıldız to share reflections and feelings on their experience over the 12 months of programming. Grab a coffee and settle in for a long read.

ÖZLEM:
After those intense days at DOK Leipzig, the one-on-one meetings, and then EFM, it felt like we’d just returned from an immersive crash course—not just into the documentary landscape but in navigating the complexities of the wider film industry. Exhausting in the best way possible, don’t you think?

TANYA:
As we are reflecting on this trip a year after, I can proudly say that the true value of it had rather a human dimension than a professional one (but well, how in a documentary world can we separate these two sides…) But we can speak about it a little bit later. Now I want to touch upon the subject from its core.
I was the most “freshly baked” filmmaker in exile in our delegation – I moved to Germany from Belarus a few weeks prior to the festival. I remember how I was struggling with the very definition of it – “filmmaker-in-exile”. Is it who I am now? Basically, it was the first time I attended a festival carrying this status. Before, I was just a filmmaker. Does the perception of me as a professional change with this prefix? Did other professionals look at us through some other lens? What are your thoughts if someone is introduced to you as a filmmaker in exile? What difference does it make to you? And actually, when did you yourself accept this status? And did you?

ÖZLEM:
I’m both glad and somewhat uncomfortable that you brought this up, as it’s a topic I’ve frequently discussed since moving to Germany, in various contexts. Honestly, I’ve grown a bit weary of it. Yet, I feel it’s something we need to address persistently and continually.

First and foremost, I don’t necessarily call myself “in exile,” but I do recognize and engage with the concept. I don’t accept the term “in exile” in “artist in exile” or “filmmaker in exile” as a prefix, label, or descriptor that pins me down or fundamentally changes my way of working as a filmmaker more than any other experience I’ve had. However, I do adopt it intentionally as a political stance. This distinction is crucial for me. It’s a key factor in deciding who I collaborate with, depending on how they frame this concept and what they aim to achieve through it. It’s as much about how I position myself as a political subject as it is about being a filmmaker.

I resist, and sometimes refuse outright this label because of the viewpoints and implications it carries, which I feel the need to distance myself from, along with the perspectives they represent. On the other hand, I embrace it as a concept because it highlights structures of discrimination and privilege. For me, the term “in exile” signals an approach that exposes the power dynamics that force or partly compel people into exile or displacement. It underscores the need to build radical solidarity, a commitment to aligning with marginalized communities, through these experiences and by challenging the forces that perpetuate such divisions. This solidarity transcends borders, creating alliances that confront the very dynamics responsible for these divisions.

In this sense, the term doesn’t merely describe a condition but points to a systemic critique. It reveals that these dynamics are not neutral but are products of historical and geopolitical forces that need to be dismantled.

This brings me to the delegation and, more broadly, DAE’s approach to these power dynamics and the politics of representation in, particularly, documentary film production. The DAE delegation, to me, created a rare dialogical space—free from the usual social and professional hierarchies. We were able to connect in ways that felt genuinely collaborative and equitable, allowing us to engage without the weight of assumed structures.

Tanya, considering this space we navigated together, how do you see it influencing your future collaborations? Did the relationships we formed—both professional and personal—shift your perspective on how we connect and build networks in such settings? Did any specific experience during the delegation make you reconsider how we approach collaboration?

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TANYA:
Your answer is worth a separate publication. You asked me if our relationship shifted my perspective. It did and it continues to do so. I keep learning. I keep unlearning. From you as well. The last year, dare I say it, was pretty much transformative for me. My perspective on many things shifted. Many factors played a role in this. But people in our group contributed to it as well.

For me it’s always a process, not a moment or just a specific experience that makes me reconsider or rethink things. And to speak about our delegation, this process started a year ago and continues today. The most important part of this process for me, apart from learning itself, is the process of rebuilding a community in a new place. This year in exile made me broaden the horizons of what community is. A professional community refers to you as a professional, and you, in turn, refer to it in the same way. I, in a way, remind myself and get reminded who I am. Tanya, cinematographer and documentary filmmaker from Belarus. I don’t know if it happened to you, but it happens to many artists and other professionals (and I’m not an exception) that exile greatly weakens your professional self. Probably, for the first time in my life I truly felt that having a choice is a privilege (now I’m speaking about professional choice, but of course, it can be applied to a broader spectrum). Maybe it sounds almost ridiculous that this realization (to this extent) didn’t come earlier. My life in Belarus was in many aspects privileged. I had a privilege to work on the projects and with people I like. Exile questions this. It even questions the very idea that I can stay in this field. But again, having a community gives me hope and strength that I will.

I wish I could keep this privilege in my life – to work on meaningful projects with people who share the same vision of the world. As my Georgian friend Mariam Chachia says “Art is free, independent and political”. Over the years, my perception of what is political and what is independent, changes. Hopefully, it deepens. Documentary filmmaking for me is also the way I communicate with the world and learn about it. I keep learning from people I film and from people I collaborate with. All this shapes who I am. I can only hope it will continue.

It’s also interesting to observe my struggle to accept the “director” label. With the  “filmmaker” definition it is easier: I can count my short documentary works in a more tv-youtube style. In my head, a title “director” requires a feature length cinema release film. As if all the years climbing to this point shouldn’t be taken into consideration… Then who am I along this way? I know that it might sound strange that I feel this way.

ÖZLEM:
Your point about “rethinking things” struck me deeply, especially as we reflect on the delegation. Displacement, especially for those of us working on political issues, brings precarities to the surface. As filmmakers, it’s crucial to expose the roots of these insecurities and actively challenge them in our work—just as I mentioned when we talked about ‘exile.’

What I found most powerful about ‘rethinking,’ as you mentioned, is how it sharpens our awareness of privilege—always present but possibly heightened through displacement. This recognition enables us to expand our struggles and build networks of solidarity. Since moving to Germany, I’ve focused on how this reshapes my approach to filmmaking, and it brings me back to the delegation’s approach to these power dynamics.

What set the DAE delegation apart was its emphasis on collaboration and ‘eye level’ communication. It wasn’t just about orienting us within the industry but about learning together how to engage collaboratively and equitably. The program created a space for us to connect, collaborate, and rethink our role in an industry often shaped by individualism. It emphasized that filmmaking can—and perhaps should—be an act of collective resistance and shared vision, if not outright struggle.

This emphasis on solidarity over competition is, in my view, a political stance in itself. Throughout the delegation, we experienced this firsthand, and I believe the ongoing relationships we’ve maintained—whether with you, the other participants, or the organizers—are a testament to this. I’d love to explore these aspects more, but for now, I’d like to focus on ‘solidarity over competition.’

In an industry that often forces filmmakers to compete for limited resources, the program offered a counter-narrative centered on collaboration. Instead of vying for the same funding or festival slots, we supported one another, learned from each other, and found strength in collective action. This sense of not being alone in our political perspectives, something we felt strongly during our time at EFM, is an aspect I’d love to hear your thoughts on as well.

For filmmakers working on politically sensitive topics like social justice or human rights, this approach was particularly meaningful. The DAE delegation recognized this and encouraged us to view each other not as rivals but as allies in the broader fight for visibility and impact.

You’ve worked in various production contexts in Belarus for many years, and I’ve had similar collaborative experiences in Turkey, so this idea isn’t entirely new for either of us. How did you experience this emphasis on solidarity over competition during the delegation? Did it shape the relationships and potential collaborations we formed? How has it resonated with you as both a filmmaker and someone who has navigated different production systems over the years?

TANYA:
First of all, I want to mention that for me a documentary community was always about community and solidarity rather than competition. Maybe, again, it was pure luck and privilege. But other factors played a role in it. I’ve been blessed to have my documentary family full of support, care, professional and personal growth and true collaboration for more than 10 years. It’s my dear people from Doc Nomads – international master degree in documentary filmmaking. Having it in my life I regard as a gift of fate. In that sense, dynamics and relationships within our delegation I took almost for granted. I simply hardly experienced anything different. I’m telling you, I have a lot of privileges. Then, I’m a cinematographer in the first place, and therefore my positioning, role and relationship within the industry is different. Only recently I started to taste the water in another role – I have my project in development as a director. Only now I’m starting to discover the market and industry in a broader spectrum. But my experience is too limited to jump into conclusions.

I came from a country where the film industry barely exists. I would be surprised if you know any Belarusian films. Few Belarusian movies that made it to big festivals were fully or to a large extent made with no-Belarusian money. So, for me it’s not only the process of learning how to navigate in a new production system but a process of learning how to navigate in a system per se. I can imagine that it’s not only me, being a Belarusian, facing these challenges. Belarus is not the only country with no access to funds for independent filmmakers and a barely working industry. Some of us (many of us?) have a very vague idea how industry works. So, first, we need to master its alphabet in order to simply communicate – to write applications, to pitch, to speak business. And all this very often happens against the background of repressions/war/genocide at our home countries. Carrying all these, we usually compete for the grants with people who, probably, are less traumatized, more emotionally stable and much more aware of the industry rules. It seems that people with similar backgrounds of traumas and loss should have solidarity with each other. But it is sadly not true. One’s own trauma doesn’t create a more empathetic person. It doesn’t necessarily make someone more human. It doesn’t make a person less racist. It doesn’t necessarily make one widen the concept of solidarity and resistance. What trauma definitely does, it creates a traumatized person.

Trauma doesn’t make a person reconsider her or his relation to power and its dynamics. It doesn’t make one question a global order of things. But it did happen to me. My own trauma, displacement and being part of the international community (and well, often traumatized one) did their job. Simply living in Germany transformed me and made me get rid of many illusions. If you look at this country from a Palestinian perspective, you’ll discover a bottomless pit. That’s what I’m discovering. Standing with Palestine tells me a lot about the person’s vision of the world. In a way, it became a litmus test for understanding one’s vision on oppression and resistance in general. That’s why I value our group a lot. Berlinale brought us together for the second time, and our small Palestinian island was floating around in the vast wilderness of  EFM.

Sometimes I’m appalled that I can’t grasp the situation in Germany, I’m very new here, I don’t speak German and so on. And this is true, of course. But it’s interesting and also painful to see how my perspective on not-my country is not taken into consideration. How many years of living here will be enough for my feelings, thoughts and observations to be taken into account?

ÖZLEM:
I deeply feel and understand your perspective, Tanya. What you describe strongly resonates with what I referred to as “eye-level communication” and how the DAE delegation embodied this approach. For me, the program introduced a more equitable and ‘healthier’ way of engaging with the European documentary industry for a newcomer.

Coming from a background where I worked mostly outside traditional industry frameworks—focusing on grassroots collaborations and collective practices—and outside of Germany, entering this space through the delegation was particularly valuable. Being part of a group that spoke a language close to my own made it easier to navigate and learn about a production model I had previously kept at a distance but recognized as essential to understand. This shared understanding helped ease my uncertainties.

The design and approach of the delegation actively broke down conventional hierarchies between filmmakers and industry experts. Emerging filmmakers are often labeled as “aspiring” or “up-and-coming,” which creates an imbalance. But in this setting, everyone was treated as equals, regardless of their career stage. Personally, it made it easier to start conversations and engage more deeply with the market while critically thinking about its dynamics. I believe DAE’s approach not only redefined professional interactions but also reminded me that dismantling power dynamics in daily interactions is just as crucial as addressing them in filmmaking practices. Everyday life and our filmmaking approach are inseparable.

Of course, the practical knowledge we gained—insights into the modus operandi of European production, research, writing, funding, legal frameworks, and so on—was essential. And not necessarily ‘but,’ rather ‘and’ beyond this, the delegation focused intensely on ethical filmmaking and the politics of representation, finding common ground with others who shared similar values. Building a community in a new country while addressing these deeper questions felt like a crucial step forward for me.

The intensity of the delegation’s ‘course’ content is another aspect to mention. Learning about the German funding landscape and festival strategies through direct discussions with those deeply embedded in these fields was far more enriching than any guidebook or online research could have been. Group discussions, visits to DOK Leipzig and EFM, and especially the one-on-one mentorship sessions offered invaluable insights that helped us rethink and refine our projects, especially for those of us in the early development stages.

But what stood out most was the sense of community we built. Informal talks were just as meaningful as formal sessions, allowing us to connect not just as filmmakers but as individuals navigating similar paths. Sharing ideas, challenges, and visions made the experience genuinely enriching.

Finally, the ongoing support from the organizers even after the program ended is what truly sets this delegation apart. I believe DAE successfully built what I’d call a “politics of friendship.” They ran the program in a way that encouraged us to reflect on how our daily practices can avoid replicating the power dynamics we aim to critique in our work. As filmmakers, this is a question we constantly face, and having a community to explore it with made all the difference. I’m genuinely excited to see how these relationships and the knowledge we’ve gained shape our next steps.

We’ve covered so much ground in reflecting on the DAE delegation and our evolving sense of community, solidarity, and resistance. As you look forward, considering all these experiences and insights, what do you feel is the most pressing question or challenge you want to address in your next project or collaboration? And how do you envision our shared experiences shaping that journey?

TANYA:
Özlem, thanks a lot for always redirecting our conversation to its initial starting point – our DAE delegation experience. I just primarily talk about myself and my worries. At least, you try to navigate its course 🙂

Our DAE group created my main professional network here in Berlin that continues to evolve to this day, and, I hope, will continue further. One encounter leads to a new one; one professional gathering brings me to another one.

Having you, Marion, Natalia, Brigid and many other people from our delegation is already a gift by itself. The luck and privilege of having incredible people around me, stays with me. Exile is an ordeal. Nobody can ever count the number of professionals (in our case creative professionals) who gave up their career because of the hardship of immigration. Nobody can ever count the number of brilliant ideas that never become a film. Nobody knows how many voices and stories will never be heard and seen. I like these phrases I picked up from one of my favourite places in Berlin Sinema Transtopia: Who decides the future of cinema? Whose stories are told through cinema?

I really hope that it is us and our stories as well. 

I’m now working on a very specific story on Belarusian language. I want to believe that our collective intelligence, professional expertise and network, solidarity and support will help to make this movie happen. It already helps a lot. 

And to wrap it up, what are your professional challenges now and what helps you to keep going? What gives you hope?

ÖZLEM:
Your words brought so much to mind, Tanya. They remind me of something crucial that Alexandra Juhasz once wrote, which I always keep in mind when making films and which has become a guiding perspective for me in my understanding of history writing: “We will never know the histories of absent women and can only point toward the space of unmade work and non-careers, as a truly invisible but key manifestation of (the lack of) funding and infrastructure.” ¹

There are countless people whose potential works were never realized due to various forms of structural discrimination and unacknowledged privileges. Our insistence on taking action and creating the works we envision—such as your persistence in making a film about the Belarusian language, which absolutely needs to be told, or, more broadly, our collective insistence on narrating our stories—serves not only as a tribute to these unrealized works but also as resistance to the forces that kept them from being made. We owe a debt not just to those who managed to find a platform to speak, but to those who didn’t have the opportunity. This insistence, for me, is also about challenging and overturning this so-called “fate,” whether tied to geography, class, or various systemic barriers.

In this context, as I reflect on your question and the manifesto-like inquiry from Sinema Transtopia, “Who decides the future of cinema? Whose stories are told through cinema?” I’d like to add another question: “Who tells these stories?”

The challenges are many—not just for me or us, but for everyone in different ways. My response, which I want to use to wrap up this conversation, is ambitious yet necessary: “I will decide the future of the cinema. My story will be told, and I will be the one to tell it.” Please understand that this “I” isn’t about an individual in isolation, but rather a collective agency and the initiative to take ownership of our narratives. In my view, insisting that these stories are ours and that we will be the ones to tell them is a way of inhabiting the world that directly relates to how we position ourselves as political subjects and how we act.

Despite the challenges, my motivation to continue making my films comes from this commitment. I believe that this commitment aligns with being on the ‘right side’ of history.

Returning briefly to DAE—I feel that the fact that most of the organizers of this delegation, if not all, were women is no coincidence. It aligns with what Juhasz emphasized about the importance of acknowledging the unmade works by women and highlighting the power dynamics that prevented them. For me, working in collaboration with those determined to reveal and dismantle these dynamics is a source of strength. The DAE delegation has been an effective starting point in this effort, practically enabling me to take steps toward creating in Germany. I’m deeply grateful, not just for the practical support, but also for the space it created for these kinds of conversations and actions.

¹ Alexandra Juhasz, Women of Vision: Histories in Feminist Film and Video (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2001), 19.

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