Olga Junek
It was three years before the Prague Spring of 1968 that my parents decided to emigrate to Australia. As a young child, I had no real understanding of what this meant, except that there would be many more things to see, do, and buy than in the town Teplice where I was born. Many years later, at a school reunion, former classmates told me they had no idea where I had gone or what had happened to me. Those were years of silence about many things, and I am sure my parents would have warned me not to mention our emigration, for fear the authorities might stop us.
When I finished school, my parents and I went on our first trip back to Czechoslovakia
My uncle Bedřich (RAF pilot, WW2 hero), who had emigrated to Sydney in the 1950s, paid for our journey — no small expense at the time — covering two plane tickets and two ship berths. The journey itself was exciting, despite seasickness for three of the six weeks. Genoa, Vesuvius, the Suez Canal, Egypt, the Pyramids — so much for me to take in and absorb at such a young age. The decision by my parents to emigrate brought us to Sydney, where my uncle, grandmother, and father were waiting for us. I thought then, as I do now, that Sydney, with its amazingly picturesque harbour, was — and remains — one of the most beautiful cities in the world. People often ask me how I felt going to school with little knowledge of English, and whether I experienced learning difficulties or bullying. To be honest, I don’t remember many problems. However, making friends in high school was quite hard. I was quiet and somewhat self-conscious, perhaps because I was not an “Aussie,” or perhaps it was simply normal teenage angst. When I finished school, my parents and I went on our first trip back to Czechoslovakia. That was in the 1970s, and there was no longer any talk of “Socialism with a human face.” People were frightened of being caught stepping outside the political line and often suffered the loss of professional jobs, being reassigned instead to menial work. Children of non-party supporters were frequently denied access to university education — one of the reasons my parents had decided to emigrate. I vividly remember leaving the Czechoslovak border on our return to Australia and saying a heartfelt thank you to my parents for having had the courage to leave — not just their home, but mainly their family and friends.
I did go to the university. Something of which my parents were immensely proud — I was the first in my family to do so. I lived the typical student life: studying, working in cafés, restaurants, and bars, socialising, and travelling whenever I could. I trained to be a teacher, something I had always wanted to do since childhood. While working behind a bar, I also met a lovely Australian, married him, and introduced him to Europe — and, of course, to Czechoslovakia and my Czech family. After that first trip together, we decided we wanted to live in Europe, largely because we both loved skiing. A job opportunity arose in Switzerland — my husband as an engineer, and me as a teacher. We planned to go for two years, which eventually became twelve, with two children along the way. We were living in Switzerland when major changes began unfolding in Eastern Europe. The stars seemed to be aligning, and both Eastern Europe and Russia were looking towards a different future. Like many others, I was initially sceptical that real change would actually occur. Yet it was an incredibly exciting time.
Europe was changing, borders were opening, and history was unfolding before our eyes. Who could forget the fall of the Berlin Wall, or Václav Havel becoming president? During this period, my husband’s company asked whether he would like to establish a new collaboration between the U.S. firm he worked for and a well-known Czech truck manufacturer, while also expanding business into Poland and Russia. Just as we were preparing to return to Australia, this very tempting offer arose — and for me, in particular, the chance to reconnect with my roots made it impossible to refuse. Living in Prague between 1992 and 1994 was an extraordinary opportunity and experience. It was a world caught between the “old” Czech ways and character, and the new Western approaches to business, shopping, food, and culture. People were excited, as we were, to be entering a new era for the Czech Republic. My Czech language skills improved significantly, yet I still found it difficult to form friendships with locals — something I deeply wanted. As expatriates working for a U.S. company and living in a Western-style house, we were viewed with a certain degree of suspicion. By the end of 1994, now a family of four, we decided to return to Australia, mainly for the sake of our children and extended family. My parents were still living in Sydney and had no desire to return to the Czech Republic. We settled in Melbourne due to my husband’s work. I was disappointed not to return to Sydney, the city where I had grown up during those formative teenage and early adult years.
By then, I was lecturing at Victoria University, where I remained for almost two decades
To manage that disappointment, I embarked on an academic path. With a long-standing interest in tourism and hospitality management, I completed a master’s degree in Tourism Management, followed later by a Ph.D. in the Social Sciences. By then, I was lecturing at Victoria University, where I remained for almost two decades. Since 2016, I have been lecturing regularly in universities in Melbourne and in Munich, Germany, as well as at other universities across Europe and Asia. This has not only deepened my love of teaching and academic research but has also allowed me to indulge my passion for travel and to visit the Czech Republic regularly. I carry a strong sense of history and of the difficult experiences endured by my extended family — particularly on my father’s (part-Jewish) side — during World War II and the post-1948 period. I am very proud of my Czech-German-Jewish heritage, just as I am proud of being an Australian. It is a testament to all of my family that I ended up in Australia. Although no longer alive, my parents were certain they had made the right decision and had given their daughter the best possible chance in life. I believe they would also feel immensely proud of what I and their grandchildren have been able to achieve as a result of the brave step they took in 1965.
