There is something deeply paradoxical about the recent discussions regarding the Seyfom monument. We have long called for monuments that can remind the outside world of the genocide against the Assyrians/Syrians and other Christian ethnic groups in the Ottoman Empire. Now that municipalities are showing interest in erecting such monuments, this should therefore be a welcome development.

But in many quarters, the issue has instead become yet another battleground for our long-standing dispute over the name. This is a development we must have the courage to examine—not least in ourselves.

After all, what really matters most? That a Seyfo monument is erected in a public place, where people outside our community can see it and understand what happened? Or that our own name is included on the monument?

When Memory Becomes a Matter of Names

For many years, the conflict between Assyrians and Syriacs/Arameans has created divisions among organizations, associations, and people who fundamentally share the same historical experiences and the same grief.

Discussing how history should be described is, of course, legitimate. Terminology is important and, for many, linked to identity and self-understanding. But it is one thing to safeguard one’s identity and quite another to make one’s own terminology a condition that makes a shared project impossible.

When a monument—which is meant to draw attention to a genocide and honor the victims—is turned into a battleground for identity politics, something has gone wrong.

We must therefore ask ourselves: What do we really want to achieve?

Do we want a Seyfom monument to be erected—or do we, above all, want the monument to confirm that our particular name has prevailed?

Södertälje and Enschede

Södertälje is a clear example. It has a large Assyrian/Syriac population, many organizations, churches, media outlets, and people of our heritage in political office. The conditions should therefore be favorable for us to work together to achieve something meaningful.

If, despite our organizational and political resources, we are unable to agree on a shared monument, we must dare to look inward. The problem may be less a lack of commitment than an inability to compromise.

A similar example can be found in Enschede, in the Netherlands. There, the municipality was willing to allow a Seyfo monument to be erected in a public space. But instead of coming together to honor the memory of the victims and raise awareness of the Seyfo, disagreements arose over the monument’s name, responsibility for it, and future memorial ceremonies. In the end, the municipality backed away from the project.

If this description of the process is accurate, it is difficult to imagine a clearer example of how a common goal can be lost due to internal conflicts.

The municipality didn't have to reject the commemoration of the Seyfo. We managed to reject it ourselves.

Why do we need a monument?

A monument is not just a stone, a statue, or a plaque. In a public space, it should be visible, raise questions, and make people wonder: What happened? Who is being commemorated? Why is the monument here?

It is therefore not just a matter for our own people. A public monument is, above all, a way to bring the Seyfo to the attention of the outside world and to emphasize that this history concerns society as a whole.

Our churches have erected important monuments, and that is a positive thing. But a monument in a church courtyard does not necessarily serve the same purpose as a monument in a public space. If the goal is to attract the attention of the outside world, it is not enough to place monuments where our own people are already gathered.

We also need to be where the rest of society is.

The monument must not become the end in itself

There is a risk that the very act of erecting the monument has become an end in itself. But costs, negotiations, organization, and permits are merely means to an end.

The purpose must be to preserve the memory of the victims and raise awareness of the Seyfo.

If the monument never comes to fruition because we cannot agree on exactly what inscription should appear on it, we must ask ourselves whether we have set the right priorities. The same applies if we allow issues of responsibility and future ceremonies to stand in the way of a joint project.

Can't we list more terms?

There must be an easier way. If both Assyrian and Syriac/Aramaic organizations consider their respective names to be important, why must one exclude the other?

A shared monument does not have to mean that anyone has to give up their identity. It should be designed to accommodate multiple names—for example, by separating them with a slash—so that it is clear they all refer to the same historical context despite the different names.

That requires compromise. But compromise is not the same as surrender.

Accepting that the other group is also allowed to be seen is not a loss. It is realizing that a shared memory can be greater than our internal identity boundaries.

We must have the courage to acknowledge our own responsibility

It is easy to criticize municipalities and politicians for not understanding our history or for not doing enough to raise awareness of the Seyfo. Sometimes such criticism may be justified.

But when municipalities actually show a willingness to participate, we must also ask ourselves what we are doing with this opportunity.

If a municipality offers us a public space and we respond with internal conflicts, we can’t say afterward that the municipality didn’t care.

Sometimes it's not the outside world that holds us back. Sometimes it's ourselves.

What is most important?

The naming dispute has caused enough division. We shouldn't let the same dispute carry over into every new situation.

Seyfo must not become yet another arena where we try to prove which group has the right to define history. Our different identities and labels may be important, but they need not stand in the way of working together.

Therefore, anyone proposing a Seyfom monument should ask themselves three questions:

Why should the monument be erected?
For whom should it be erected?
What do we want people outside our community to understand when they see it?

If the answer is that we want the rest of the world to know about Seyfo, then our priorities must also change.

The first question in the negotiations should not be: What inscription should appear on the monument?

It should be: How do we get the monument in place?

After all, what's the point of winning the battle over a name if the result is that there won't be a monument at all?

We can afford to compromise

Södertälje and Enschede should therefore not be viewed merely as examples of municipalities where the Seyfom monument has not been realized. They should also be seen as examples of our own inability to compromise.

We have organizations, churches, media outlets, politicians, and people with a deep commitment to and knowledge of our history. What we sometimes seem to lack is the ability to set aside our internal differences when a greater goal requires it.

A Seyfom monument should not be a monument to our dispute over the name.

It is to be a monument to the victims.

It is meant to remind future generations of what happened and, above all, to be visible to people who are not part of our community.

If we are truly serious about ensuring that the Seyfo is never forgotten, we must be prepared to compromise on what is less important in order to achieve what is most important.

Because, in the end, perhaps the question isn't what name is engraved on the stone.

The truly crucial question is whether the stone will even be there at all.