Diaspora Memory Conflicts: Struggles over Genocide Commemoration, Recognition and Denial

Abstract This contribution analyses conflicts around genocide memory in the diaspora. It shows how Assyrian/Syriac initiatives to create memorials to the 1915 genocide has triggered reactions by Turkish diaspora groups and the Turkish government. The Rwandan government, in contrast, has mobilized its diaspora to fight denial of Rwanda’s 1994 genocide, while other diaspora activists draw attention to—and create commemorative practices around—other, silenced, mass-atrocities. The text discusses the opportunities for victimhood recognition and memorialization offered in the diaspora, and how genocide memory conflicts intertwine with foreign policy matters and national and local politics in the country of settlement.


Introduction
'Never again Seyfo!', 'Never again Seyfo!' and 'We want a monument!', 'We want a monument!', 'Give us a memorial!' A dark January evening in a Stockholm suburb, hundreds have gathered to chant their support for the establishment of a monument to the 1915 genocide against Christian minorities in the Ottoman Empire-a proposal members of Botkyrka City Council debate that very evening. Most demonstrators are Assyrians/Syriacs, 1 with signs reading 'We are all genocide victims' and 'Give us a place to mourn'. Another, smaller group of people, have come to oppose the proposal. They carry Turkish and Azerbaijani flags and signs stating 'Judged without trial' and 'No to the genocide monument' (Assyria TV, 2014). 2 That so many brave the winter cold to express their views about the suggested monument attests to the importance of the memory of atrocities, even though they took place a hundred years earlier, in a distant place. That evening in 2014, the City Council rejected the idea of a monument in Botkyrka. Yet, numerous other memorials to the genocide against Assyrians/Syriacs-referred to as Seyfo-have been erected or planned in Sweden and other countries that host this diaspora. In Fairfield, south of Sydney, for instance, the erection of a 4.5 m monument was seen by the Assyrian/Syriac community as an important step towards genocide recognition-and a sign of Australia's acceptance of the group. Residents of Turkish background, however, felt that the massive sculpture unfairly assigned blame on Turks who had nothing to do with those past brutalities, and warned that it would 'import' conflicts between the two communities to Australia (Cumberland Courier, 2009;Wolvaardt, 2014;interview 2021).
The ways in which migrants and their descendants engage in, sustain and transform conflicts raging in their (former) homelands have attracted attention among both scholars and policymakers. Migrant-receiving countries worry that far-away wars 'spill over' to their societies in the form of radicalization, terrorism, or violent clashes between migrant groups. As individuals from different sides in a conflict settle abroad, these conflicts are sometimes 'deterritorialized' and take on new dynamics as actors in the diaspora pursue them (Baser, 2013;Féron, 2017Féron, , 2021see Smith & Stares, 2007).
How to understand the past is an important point of contestation during armed conflicts and in the aftermath of violence (see McDowell et al., 2014;McGrattan & Hopkins, 2017). Are, for instance, significant dates to be celebrated as victories or mourned as catastrophes?
The recognition of mass-violence as genocide can be particularly contentious, given the term's strong legal and moral implications (Irvin-Erickson, 2017). For diaspora groups, the past is highly significant as their identity is linked to a historical, often forced, dispersal from their homeland, and an urge to preserve that homeland and their own distinctness as a group (Brubaker, 2005). In fact, historical traumas often become central vehicles to mobilize and maintain diasporaness across generations (Volkan, 1991). Past violence is thus central to both conflicts and diaspora identity. Consequently, when groups who are divided 'back home' end up in the same place after migration, conflicts around memory are likely to arise.
This contribution aims to advance our understanding of 'transported conflicts' by investigating how contestations around genocide memory play out in the diaspora. It analyses diaspora memory conflicts in relation to two cases: the genocide against Assyrians/ Syriacs (Seyfo), and the 1994 genocide against Tutsis in Rwanda and other atrocities against Rwandans in the region. Both Seyfo and the Rwandan genocide are globally commemorated and widely considered to meet the genocide definition of the United Nations Genocide Convention. Despite this, contestations around how to name and remember the past surface. The quest for genocide memorialization and recognition by Assyrian/ Syriac communities is resisted by Turkish diaspora groups and a Turkish government that denies the genocide. In the Rwandan case, there are conflicts between those who wish to (also) gain recognition for other atrocities, and those seeing such efforts as attempts to minimize or deny the 1994 genocide.
Building on interviews, observations and content from traditional and social media, the contribution traces how conflicts around the commemoration, recognition and denial of genocide play out in diasporic spaces. It highlights the different opportunities for victimhood recognition and memorialization that democratic countries of settlement in the West offer, and shows how diaspora memory conflicts intertwine with foreign policy matters and national and municipal party politics in countries of residence.
The next section discusses earlier literature on transported conflicts and links it to research on memory conflicts and diaspora mobilization. Thereafter I present the two cases and the methods and material used. The main part of the contribution discusses the contestations around Assyrian/Syriac genocide monuments and conflicts around the memory of mass-atrocities in Rwanda. The concluding section suggest a framework of seven dimensions of 'transported conflicts' that may usefully be employed in future research.

Transported Conflicts, Diasporas and Memory
Scholars and policy makers have tended to frame diasporas as either war mongers or potential agents for peace in relation to conflicts in their homelands (see Smith & Stares, 2007). Over the years, research has deepened our understanding of the multiple and complex ways in which diaspora actors engage in advocacy, protests, economic support to warring parties, dialogue initiatives, humanitarian assistance and transitional justice (Karabegovic& Orjuela, 2020). It has, moreover, become evident that diasporans do not just engage in conflicts 'back home', but that these conflicts shape inter-group relations also in the societies where they reside. Violent clashes between Kurds and Turks in Europe are striking examples of such 'conflict transportation' (Baser, 2013). More common than violence, however, is mistrust, mutual avoidance and non-violent confrontations, as has been noticed in communities from Sri Lanka, Rwanda, Armenia/Turkey, Israel/Palestine and the Balkans (Martinovic et al., 2017;Monahan et al., 2014;Orjuela, 2017;Perrin, 2010).
In fact, conflict divides are often reproduced in the diaspora, including across generations. It may be useful to think of a conflict as made up of (1) a disagreement between conflict parties, (2) their attitudes and emotions, and (3) the ways they act (Féron, 2017;see Galtung, 2009;Olsson, 2021). The disagreement, or core conflict, in the homeland -be it about government, territory, rights, resources or something else-is often important also to persons abroad, who want to contribute to winning or otherwise resolving it. Diaspora individuals are, moreover, likely to reproduce negative attitudes against those on the other side of the conflict divide (Monahan et al., 2014). When it comes to conflict behaviour, people in the diaspora face different opportunities and constraints than in the homeland. They are less likely to take up arms, but may be better placed to collect money, spread information, organize demonstrations or put pressure on national and international power holders (Karabegović& Orjuela, 2020;Smith & Stares, 2007). While diasporans are removed from the direct battlefield, media coverage, direct contact with persons 'back home' and transnational surveillance and repression connect them to the homeland conflict (Tsourapas, 2021). Féron (2017, p. 362) stresses that as conflicts play out in new places, they often take on a life of their own, shaped by the conditions in the particular society. Not least experiences of marginalization, racism and prejudices against immigrants can lead to desires 'to reaffirm and strengthen the groups' identity and boundaries' (Féron, 2021, p. 301), which can deepen existing conflict divides. Conversely, a sense of empowerment and successful integration in the new country may facilitate conflict-related diaspora mobilization (Kovács, 2017). Homeland conflicts are hence re-appropriated and reinterpreted by diaspora actors based on their experiences and position.
Diaspora conflict mobilization is often triggered by events in the homeland, e.g. conflict escalation or transitional justice initiatives (cf. Sökefeld, 2006), but may also be motivated by activities by other diaspora groups. When Kurdish activists organized protests and gained recognition for their grievances in Western countries, Turks mobilized in response. Country of residence conditions can, however, also enable dialogue and peaceful coexistence, for instance through business and other collaborations, intermarriages or friendships (Baser, 2014). While conflicts tend to strengthen diasporic identity and in-group cohesion, we need to recognize the wide range of positions-related to gender, class, generation and personal experiences-that shape how individuals reinterpret and engage in conflicts (see Anthias, 1998;Koinova, 2012).
Violent conflict and displacement often make the past important for individuals and groups. Disagreements over how historical atrocities are to be understood and acted upon are part of conflicts and their aftermath. Memorialization initiatives are contentious, not least because they attribute blame and recognize victimhood, and may thereby reactivate conflict divisions (McDowell et al., 2014;McGrattan & Hopkins, 2017).
It is not unexpected, then, that memory conflicts arise between groups originating in the same homeland conflict. Nor is it surprising that conflicts reenacted in the diaspora pivot around painful pasts. In recent decades, the past has been increasingly present in politics (Bell, 2006, p. 6). Memory is closely linked to identity and political legitimacy. Certain versions of the past can be hegemonic-propagated by state power-while others are oppositional and a vehicle for resistance (cf. Bell, 2006, p. 15).
Diasporas may play an active role in struggles over memory. The space to gain recognition for victimhood can be limited in countries where the atrocities happened, but less so in democratic countries of settlement (see Jacoby, 2015). If memorialization of (certain) victims is restricted in the violence-affected homeland, the diaspora can pursue commemorative events, memorials and advocacy for justice and genocide recognition (Orjuela, 2022).
The term genocide carries special weight in struggles for victimhood recognition. Genocide is not a conflict where the parties share culpability, but the worst of crimes, where innocent people are killed merely for who they are. In contestations over the past, the genocide discourse offers a strategic narrative that convincingly explains what happened; as Irvin-Erickson (2017, p. 131) argues, the word genocide, 'collapse[s] the social, political, economic, cultural, religious and historical contexts of any conflict into a simple binary of good guys and bad guys'. Locating the cause of the atrocities within a regime or ideology, the term precludes blurred lines between victims and perpetrators; it urges global action against the perpetrators and implies that its victims are completely innocent. Therefore, conflicts arise around which atrocities are to be recognized as genocide (Orjuela, 2022;see Straus, 2019). Moves towards genocide recognition in diaspora countries of residence, Baser (2010, p. 205) shows, can invigorate conflict between diaspora groups and create 'new battlefields'.
Country of residence authorities relate to diaspora memory conflicts in different ways. State actors can offer space for memorialization, e.g. museums (Lacroix & Fiddian-Qasmiyeh, 2013, p. 691). Proponents of multiculturalism tend to support commemorative practices as they recognize the experiences and identity of minorities. Actors with an assimilationist agenda, conversely, are likely to see memorialization by diaspora groups as a problem (Kasbarian, 2018, p. 124). Sometimes diaspora memory conflicts involve attempts by a homeland state to control its (former) citizens and pressurize decisionmakers in the settlement country. This may trigger reactions from the authorities in the state whose sovereignty is breached (see Baser & Féron, 2022).
This section has teased out how conflicts can be carried over to and take on their own life in the diaspora, and how diaspora conflict-related mobilization is shaped by events in the homeland and conditions in the country of residence. I combine those insights with ideas about the importance of memory for armed conflicts and political legitimacy, as well as for diaspora identity and mobilization. Building on these discussions, I now analyse how diaspora memory conflicts play out, and the ways they entwine with politics in different spaces.

Contexts, Methods and Data
While the genocide against Armenians in the Ottoman Empire during World War I is well known, the parallel massacres of other Christian groups have received less attention. In the 1910s and 20s, hundreds of thousands of Assyrians/Syriacs were killed, as part of the systematic elimination of ethnic and religious minorities by Turkish nationalists and their Kurdish allies (Gaunt, 2006, p. 300ff). 3 Today, Turkey, Iraq, Syria and Iran-the ancestral homeland(s) of the Assyrians/Syriacs-are inhabited by only a small fraction of the original population. Continued marginalization, discrimination and violence by the Turkish state, Kurdish armed groups and, more recently, the Islamic State, is seen by many Assyrians/Syriacs as a still ongoing genocide that threatens the group's very existence (see Travis, 2006). Turkey vehemently denies the genocides carried out on its current territory during the Ottoman period, and has instead advanced a 'common pain thesis', highlighting other victims (Kasbarian, 2018, p. 128).
Unlike Armenians, Assyrians/Syriacs do not have their own state, and the group's identity is thus maintained in the diaspora. The genocide in the 1910s and 20s (Seyfo) triggered waves of migration, mainly within the region. Relocation to Europe took off in the 1970s, with labour migration from Turkey, followed by family reunification and asylum migration in the wake of armed conflicts in the 1980s and the war in Syria and expansion of the Islamic State in the 2010s and 20s. Today, the largest concentrations of Assyrians/ Syriacs outside the Middle East are in the United States, Sweden, Germany, Russia and Australia (Koinova, 2019). Maintaining the language, religion, traditions and endogamous marriage patterns, as well as the memory of Seyfo, is considered key to intergenerational transmission of Assyrian/Syriac identity (Garis Guttman, 2022).
Despite the international community's 'never again' pledge, almost one million people were killed in Rwanda in 1994, as the state, militias and ordinary people mobilized to exterminate the Tutsi minority (see Mamdani, 2001). Unlike Turkey, the Rwandan government promotes the memory of the genocide, and also engages its diaspora in commemorations, the pursuit of perpetrators hiding abroad, and the fight against genocide denial (Orjuela, 2022).
Migration has been pivotal to the conflict dynamics in and around Rwanda; Tutsis fled persecution in the 1950s and 60s, but returned after the genocide and the victory of the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF), that had been formed by the Uganda-based diaspora. After 1994, large numbers of Hutus-some of whom had taken part in the killings-left the country. In recent years, the increasingly authoritarian state has triggered migration of critics of RPF. Large parts of Rwanda's diaspora reside in nearby Uganda, Burundi and Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC); other important diaspora hubs are South Africa, Belgium, France, the United States and Canada. Rwanda's diaspora is ethnically and politically divided; while the importance of ethnicity has been toned down after the genocide, a main conflict line is between supporters and opponents of RPF. With limited space inside Rwanda, dissidents and activists mobilize in the diaspora (Betts & Jones, 2016;Turner, 2013). Also here, however, the repressive state can reach them in the form of surveillance, threats, and even violent attacks (Schenkkan & Linzer, 2021).
The two cases shed light on diaspora memory conflicts from two different vantage points. They involve two (semi)authoritarian homeland states, which actively engage their diasporas to pursue their narrative of the past-Turkey against genocide recognition and Rwanda against genocide denial. Diaspora activists, on their part, use arenas in their countries of residence to pursue their version of the past. The two cases differ when it comes to time: while Seyfo happened over a hundred years ago and have no living survivors, people who lived through the genocide and other atrocities in Rwanda are still around. Both diasporas suffer from internal divides. An important difference is that the Assyrians/Syriacs are more numerous and firmly established in their countries of residence than the Rwandans.
The data collection and analysis were guided by questions around how genocide memory has been mobilized by diaspora and state actors in the residence countries, the conflict lines, the actors and their positions and motivations. The study did not focus on specific countries of residence but identified relevant initiatives and conflicts globally. I consulted a broad range of sources, from publicly available video recordings of events (commemorations, conferences, diaspora dialogues), to news items and social media posts that concerned genocide recognition and memorialization and the role of the diaspora. For the Rwanda case, I also draw on a study I conducted 2015-2018, including 27 interviews with persons in North America and Europe involved in diaspora work for memory and justice, and observations of commemorative events. Six additional interviews were carried out in 2020 and 2022 on-line and in Belgium. For the Seyfo case, I conducted five interviews in 2021 and 2022 with persons involved in processes to establish monuments. When analysing the material, I identified central themes and stories that illustrate the contestations around memory played out in the diaspora.

Remembering Seyfo: Contested Monuments
The diverse Assyrian/Syriac community is united by a history of persecution and suffering, most importantly during Seyfo. Migration to Western Europe in the 1970s opened up for the public commemoration of this historical trauma (Mutlu-Numansen & Ossewaarde, 2019, p. 416). One of my interviewees described how Seyfo had affected his family and commented that 'in countries like Iraq, Syria or Iran you cannot talk about these issues at all' (interview, 2021). As silence prevails in the countries of origin, the diaspora in the West becomes a main driver of memorialization. Another interviewee described how the awareness of Seyfo developed: In Sweden we had the opportunity to read, educate ourselves, and organize ourselves culturally but also politically. And then one starts thinking, what is the basis of all this repression, persecution? Then suddenly it becomes clear that Turkey has repressed us, for hundreds of years […] Then the consequences of genocide are discovered […]; that I am in Sweden is because of the genocide in 1915. (interview, 2021) Seyfo thus provides a historical explanation of the Assyrian/Syriac people's dispersal and threatened existence, and a legitimate reason for migrants to be where they are. Seyfo is also central to diaspora mobilization, focusing on commemoration, awareness-raising, genocide recognition-and the establishment of monuments.
As of 2022, monuments commemorating Seyfo can be found in Argentina, Armenia, Australia, Belgium, France, Germany, Greece, Russia, Sweden, Switzerland, Ukraine, the United Kingdom and the United States. 4 Most were erected in the 2010s and 2020s.
A key person behind Sweden's first Seyfo monument, inaugurated 2015, remarked that: 'it is only now the last years that they [Seyfo monuments] have started coming up. After our monument it has completely exploded with other monuments' (interview, 2021). In 2019, the European Syriac Union circulated a call for 'every cultural, ecclesiastical, political organization and social and sporting club' to erect 'a Sayfo memorial or monument within its public space' to 'achieve a true internalization of the Sayfo within our people' (European Syriac Union, 2019). Many recent monuments are indeed placed on Syriac-Orthodox church grounds. Some Assyrians/Syriacs, however, believe that it is important to establish memorials also in public spaces: 'a monument above all serves to attract attention. It should be noticed by outsiders passing by', one interviewee opinioned (interview, 2021). Placing a monument on municipal land has an important symbolic value: 'many would feel that now there is someone else, an outsider, who has seen our wounds, what we have been through, and recognizes it with a monument […]. It means that one feels more … a part [of society]' (interview, 2021).
It is precisely this strife for official recognition that has activated memory conflicts. The opposing demonstrations in Stockholm, described in the introduction, are one example. While this can be described as a 'transported conflict' between Turkish and Assyrian/ Syriac diaspora groups, the dispute is also intertwined with local and national party politics, as well as with integration and foreign policy matters.
The monument in Fairfield, Australia, illustrates some of these conflict dimensions. About 2,000 persons attended the 2010 unveiling of the sculpture, which depicts a martyr's hand holding the earth-a symbol for global genocide recognition (Monument Australia, n.d.) (Figure 1). The route towards a monument had not been smooth, though. On the day of the council vote, hundreds of Turks gathered to protest with slogans like 'No to racial monuments' and 'Don't divide the community' (Cumberland Courier, 2009). The tensions led Australia's minister of foreign affairs to unsuccessfully attempt to stop the vote (Jensen, 2009).
Anticipated conflict had even influenced the monument's design. One of its initiators explained that 'it is a very strong monument', constructed with 'the strongest kind of concrete and heavy metal [… so that] even if they put explosives in it, it will not affect it' (interview 2021). Sure enough, the monument was on several occasions graffitied with insults, Turkish symbols and Nazi swastikas-but not demolished. The vandalism in fact seemed to benefit the Assyrian/Syriac community as it drew media attention to Seyfo. 'That's the whole issue of a genocide monument', my interviewee concluded: 'it is formational, and it does a good job' (interview 2021).
In what is sometimes referred to as the Assyrian/Syriac capital of Europe, Swedish Södertälje, a publicly financed Seyfo monument has been in the plans for decades. Approximately a third of the municipality's inhabitants are Assyrian/Syriacs, and critical citizens allege that the interest of politicians in a Seyfo monument intensifies when elections draw closer. Letters to local newspapers reveal some of the conflict lines. Politicians and diaspora activists stress the importance of a monument that recognize atrocities that have shaped the lives of large parts of the municipality's population and raises awareness of historical genocides to prevent new ones. Critics, however, find what happened over a century ago in another part of the world irrelevant to Södertälje, and the expense unwarranted. 'We are not interested in passing the monument in our everyday lives and to feel as if we were immigrants to our own city', some inhabitants write. 'When will the Finns be given a monument?' a member of the large Finnish immigrant group asks (Länstidningen, 2021a, 2021b).
The memory conflict is also fought in the legal sphere. In Norrköping, another Swedish city with an Assyrian/Syriac diaspora, a 2015 decision by the municipality to set aside land for a Seyfo monument was brought to court by a citizen of Turkish origin. After several appeals by both sides, the Supreme Administrative Court ruled that a municipal monument was not permissible, as it would violate the national government's monopoly on foreign policy decisions. In 2021, a 2.5 m tall, black granite stone, inscribed with a golden cross and the text 'Never forget, always honor', was nevertheless inaugurated. An 'adjustment' involving the municipality selling the dedicated land to the local Syrian-Orthodox churches allowed for the memorial to be raised without contradicting the court verdict (Loewen, 2018;interview 2022).
The genocide memory conflicts also have a foreign policy dimension. When the Swedish parliament in 2010 recognized the genocide against Armenians, Assyrians/ Syriacs/Chaldeans and Pontic Greeks, Turkey withdrew its ambassador for a period. Turkish state representatives have attempted to influence politicians supportive of Seyfo monuments in Australia, Belgium and Sweden (BarAbraham & Abraham, 2013;Jensen, 2009;Loewen, 2018). A Turkish diplomat asked people of Turkish origin to help stop the monuments in Botkyrka and Södertälje that, in his view, would commemorate 'a fictive genocide' and 'constitute a new blow to the relations between Turkey and Sweden'. His letter further read: 'As an embassy, we have taken all necessary contacts with the Swedish authorities. As you know, we lack the possibility to influence the municipal council. Therefore we urge you to follow the monument case in the municipalities and take the necessary measures' (quoted in Baksi & Kuseyri, 2014). Such efforts align with the Turkish strategy to engage-but also control-its diaspora (Arkilic, 2021). When it comes to the sizable Seyfo monument in Fairfield, Turkey attempted to prevent its establishment and later to get it removed. The country put pressure on Australia by denying visas to Australian archeologists involved in an important historical survey in Gallipoli, the Turkish peninsula where over 8,000 Australians perished in a battle during World War I ('Gallipoli Threat over Monument,' 2010). In the wake of this controversy, monument proposals by Vietnamese, Armenian and Greek diaspora groups have presumably been turned down with reference to the risk of conflict escalation (interview 2021).
On one side in this memory conflict, we thus have a relatively powerful state, denying that a genocide took place, and on the other a stateless group, whose members are well integrated into their countries of residence. The yes-vote on the Fairfield monument was facilitated by the fact that half of the councilors had Assyrian/Syriac background (Weiss, 2012). In Sweden, numerous Assyrians/Syriacs hold positions in parliament, government and municipal councils. As one interviewee said: 'We may not have our own embassy, but we do have a commitment to engage in society' (interview 2021). Moreover, the mere size of the Assyrian/Syriac diaspora-and its concentration to certain areas-make it politically influential. In Södertälje, the Seyfo issue has such significance that the Social Democrats lost local power in 2018 following the central government's failure to honour its promise to recognize the genocide (Säll, 2018). One interviewee criticized what he called the 'mudslinging' between political parties concerning Seyfo: 'Parties take up the issue to win votes' (interview 2021).
The conflicts around genocide monuments also nurtures coalition-building (cf. Koinova, 2019). In Australia, Michael (2015, p. 165) identifies a divide between Turks on the one hand and Armenians, Kurds, Assyrians/Syriacs and Greeks on the other. In Sweden after the 2010 genocide recognition, conflict lines were drawn between Turks and Azerbaijanis on one side, and Assyrians/Syriacs, Armenians and Kurds on the other (Baser, 2010). The conflicts are also imbedded in a more wide-ranging Christian-Muslim divide; Seyfo and continued discrimination in their countries of origin has left many Assyrians/Syriacs with fears and prejudices against Muslims, which are reproduced in the diaspora (Garis Guttman, 2022).
Finally, internal conflicts within the Assyrian/Syriac community-especially the divide between churches and organizations representing the Assyrian and Syriac side respectively (see Biner, 2011)-are brought to a head when monuments are constructed. Deciding what term to use about Seyfo's victims has been challenging. An opinion maker commented the decision to write 'Syriacs/Arameans/Assyrians/Chaldeans' on the proposed memorial in Botkyrka: 'this division into different names is a shame that we in this way carve into stone' (Kurt, 2010).
Genocide monuments hence become a focal point for multiple multi-layered conflicts. Interestingly, both pro-and anti-monument groups understand themselves as peace-promoters, and the other side as conflict-mongers. The representative of a Turkish association in Botkyrka commented: 'A monument would hurt the Turkish people. Why should we be punished for something that happened a hundred years ago? We are going to live here together, but if we let our children inherit this conflict it will only lead to new enmity' (quoted in Jarnlo, 2013;cf. Baser, 2010cf. Baser, , 2014. Assyrians/Syriacs, conversely, see genocide recognition as a way towards peace. An interviewee described the diverging views: 'they [the Turks] say 'Don't bring your problems here to Australia, we wanna live in peace'. […] But we can't live in peace while you are denying what happened to our people' (interview 2021). Similarly, a speaker at the 2013 inauguration of a Seyfo monument in Bannaux, Belgium, stated that 'this is a monument for peace. The artist has carved a dove into the stone as symbol of peace to commemorate our martyrs. […] We hope that this monument contributes to the process of recognition of the Assyrian Genocide. Although the pain has been passed down from generation to generation, it may heal slowly so that peace is restored between the people concerned' (quoted in BarAbraham & Abraham, 2013).

Rwanda: Fighting Silence, Fighting Genocide Denial
Every April, a monument in Brussels is the site for a diaspora memory conflict. The sculpture-a stone pillar crowned with an egg from which five bronze birds fly off-symbolize hope and renewal ( Figure 2). It was unveiled in 2004 to commemorate the victims of the genocide in Rwanda ten years earlier. While the monument was an initiative of Belgium's Ministry of Foreign Affairs, it has become a central point for a 'transported conflict' about how to remember the mass-atrocities that Rwandans suffered in the 1990s (Orjuela, 2020).
The 1994 genocide against the Tutsis is extensively memorialized in Rwanda, where numerous memorial sites remind visitors of this national trauma (Meierhenrich, 2011). The resolve to commemorate extends also to the diaspora. In Belgium-Rwanda's former colonial power and a key migration destination-there are yearly marches, memorial evenings where survivors share testimonies and conferences advancing the fight against genocide denial. While a torchlight march is held in Brussels on April 7-the day the genocide started-a day earlier, people gather for an alternative, more controversial, event. Since 2005, they go to the monument on the 6th to mark the anniversary of the shooting down of an airplane carrying Rwanda's and Burundi's presidents, which triggered the genocide. 'When we commemorate, we commemorate the extermination of Rwandan people without dividing them', the main organizer explained (interview 2016). While memorial events organized by the Rwandan government and survivors' associations on April 7 focus on the Tutsi genocide victims, the alternative commemoration honours all victims of the genocide (including Hutu and Twa) and other mass-crimes in the Great Lakes region. The organizers, however, have been labelled 'genocide deniers' by Rwandan authorities. In 2007, the major of Woluwé-Saint-Pierre, the Brussels municipality where the monument stands, banned commemorations on April 6, as they could harm relations between Rwanda and Belgium. This resulted in various forms of police interference; organizers and participants have over the years been arrested, told to stop their activities and prevented from reaching the sculpture. When I participated in 2016, a police cordon blocked the road to the monument, and the around thirty mourners instead held speeches and laid down flowers in front of their fence. In 2022, a sole activist brought a bouquet of flowers and held a speech by the monument, thereafter posting a video of it on social media (Amakuru, 2013;interviews 2016. This memory conflict contains several disagreements: which day marks the start of the genocide, which victims should be commemorated and who could legitimately access the memorial. For many, the conflict is highly personal, as it concerns their lost loved ones. At the same time, the legitimacy of RPF and its leader Paul Kagame, Rwanda's president since 2000, is at stake. RPF prides itself of having stopped the genocide by defeating the government that planned and executed it, and has made the genocide central to Rwanda's national identity. A broadening of who should be remembered to include those killed in the armed conflicts in Rwanda and the DRC, revenge killings and repression (see Straus, 2019), inevitably puts the spotlight on a wider set of perpetrators-including the RPF.
That the conflict plays out in the streets of Brussels, rather than Kigali, is due to the limited space inside Rwanda to talk openly about RPF's atrocities. Politicians, artists and opinion makers who have propagated for recognition of other victims than the Tutsis killed during the genocide have faced charges of terrorism or genocide ideology (Jansen, 2014).
Like in the Seyfo memory conflict, both sides see themselves as peacemakers. The progovernment diaspora supports Rwanda's massive efforts to come to terms with its genocide past through extensive commemoration, legal justice and the fostering of a shared Rwandan identity (Clark & Kaufman, 2008). Talking about other victims is, from this perspective, a threat against Rwanda's path towards peace. Diaspora Rwandans who criticize the government, on their side, argue that avoiding truth and justice for other victims can breed frustration and possibly new violence (interviews 2016, 2022).
Moreover, RPF's genocide narrative-particularly the blame it puts on the international community for failing to prevent the killings-is central to Rwanda's foreign policy. Rwanda is a major aid recipient, with several European and North American donors committed to supporting post-genocide development (Desrosiers & Swedlund, 2019). Combining dependency on aid with a questionable human rights record, the government has prioritized international image-building (Dukalskis, 2021). In this context, diaspora efforts to decenter the genocide and highlight RPF atrocities could threaten Rwanda's reputation and thus (potentially) its international backing. Locally in Brussels, Woluwé-Saint-Pierre's mayor too is concerned about Rwanda-Belgian relations, particularly the municipality's decades-long twinning arrangement with a Rwandan district (Amakuru, 2013). While in the Assyrian/Syriac case, a homeland government-Turkey-obstructs genocide commemoration, the Rwandan government promotes genocide memory and fights denial. In both cases, it is not merely the historical record that is at stake, but economic and political interests.
Fighting genocide ideology and denial are central themes in Rwandan genocide commemorations. A distortion of history is framed as an existential threat against Rwanda -a threat the government and pro-government spokespersons locate to the diaspora. In 2021, Rwanda's Minister of Justice tweeted that 'a fringe of young, educated descendants of genocide perpetrators' in Belgium, were 'at the heart of the resurgence of genocide denial'. 5 Other commentators describe diaspora critics as a generation of well-educated future leaders in the private and public sectors in their countries of residence, whose international power will be dangerous to Rwanda (The Square, 2022). RPF-supporters draw parallels between the alleged denial of genocide in Rwanda and the resurgence of Nazism and Holocaust denial (One Nation Radio, 2021).
Those in the diaspora who are considered a threat to Rwanda's security, however, urge their critics to provide examples of when they have denied the genocide. Their main concern is not whether Tutsis were systematically killed in 1994-a well-established fact-but the need to recognize and seek justice for other atrocities (interviews, 2022). They see themselves as human rights activists, and targets of Rwanda's transnational repression strategy, which draws heavily on the genocide discourse. In a climate of restricted freedom of speech, also in the diaspora, Hutu critics are regularly accused-correctly or falsely-of having perpetrated genocide-while some who committed crimes but have joined the RPF escape justice (interview 2022). Those who were children, or not yet born, in 1994, cannot be accused of perpetrating genocide, but are instead delegitimized as genocide deniers.
The Rwandan government and civil society organizations working closely with it seek to mobilize young Rwandans in Rwanda and globally in the fight against genocide ideology and denial. The youth are encouraged to use social media. One commentator said: 'You don't need to be hundred people […] or well equipped with beautiful cameras […] You just need to take your phone, take your YouTube and Twitter and fight, fight' (quoted in The Square, 2022). Rwanda's official version of the past is indeed increasingly challenged. Two diaspora activists caution that Rwanda is 'on the verge of losing the media war', and that those supportive of Rwanda are 'losing control of the narrative'. They noted that the government critics are becoming more and more legitimate, while young Rwandans hesitate to take up the struggle against them (Tran Ngoc & Mwiza, 2022). There has certainly been an upsurge of alternative stories of the past; those who for long kept silent about their hardship as refugees in DRC and family members killed by the RPF have started to speak out. They produce YouTube videos, publish books, post memories of their family members on social media and organize alternative commemorative events.
A priority for the Rwandan government and diaspora organizations supporting it is to promote laws against genocide denial in the countries where their critics live. In 2022, a French journalist was tried for 'contesting' the genocide when saying on television that the distinction between good and bad guys in the genocide in Rwanda was not clear-cut (Ouest-France, 2022). In Belgium, the proposal of a law against genocide denial sparked conflict between diaspora youth organization Jambo Asbl, which attempted to organize a debate on the law in the Belgian parliament, and the Rwandan embassy, which managed to stop the debate (interview, 2022). A law banning denial or gross minimization of genocides recognized by UN tribunals was passed with broad parliamentary support in 2019 (Bradshaw, 2019), but with formulations that make it difficult to use against those who criticize the official Rwandan narrative of the past (interviews, 2022).
When it comes to national and local politics, the Rwandan community is not large enough to make or break elections in the countries and regions they reside. Internal divides along ethnic and pro-and anti-RPF lines further diminish their political influence. In Belgium, however, political parties relate to Rwanda differently. Christian Democrats have historical ties to Belgium's colonial rule and those in power before and during the genocide (Wirth, 2022), while a main French-speaking party has close connections to the RPF. The divide in the diaspora thus, to some extent, maps onto divides between political parties in Belgium (interview 2022).
While the view of the past and present in Rwanda divides the diaspora, there are other struggles where Rwandans engage, which could potentially encourage collaboration. The large Black Lives Matter demonstrations in North America and Europe in 2020 drew many young Rwandans. While some diasporans see the struggle against racism in Western societies as a priority, others argue that the oppression faced by people in their ancestral homeland demands their full attention (interviews 2022). Memory conflicts surface also in the fight against racism and initiatives to revisit the colonial past. Some Rwandan activists perceive the failure of European countries to fight denial of the Rwandan genocidewhile they take swift action to counter Holocaust denial-as a sign of racism. The inclusion of a diaspora expert with a background in Jambo Asbl in a Belgian parliamentary committee formed to investigate and suggest measures for Belgium to come to terms with its colonial legacy, triggered protests by Rwanda's parliament and the withdrawal from the process by a key genocide survivor's organization (Kagire, 2020). The conflict over which atrocities to remember thus intertwines with other conflicts around the past and present in diaspora countries.

Conclusions
This contribution has analysed how homeland conflicts are reproduced and transformed as they are 'transported' across space and generations. Focusing on the Assyrian/Syriac and Rwandan diasporas, it highlights the importance of genocide memory as a site of contestation and mobilization. The memory of genocide, however, plays very different roles in these two contexts. While Assyrians/Syriacs use the space and resources available to them in Western democratic countries to promote official recognition and commemoration of the 1915 genocide, contestations in the Rwandan case concern not official recognition of the 1994 genocide, but whether acknowledgement of other atrocities are to be understood as genocide denial or legitimate struggles for victimhood recognition.
This study has shown how monuments can be focal points for memory conflicts. They are physical representations of the past, where facts and names are carved into stone. Putting up a monument involves fundraising, permissions, political decisions, agreement on design and placement-all of which can be highly contentious. Particularly in the Assyrian/Syriac case, conflicts over monuments entwine with municipal and national politics. They are linked to foreign policy concerns, and may reactivate both inter-and ingroup conflicts. Notably, genocide commemoration is also a way for diaspora groups to assert their presence in their country of residence; to publicly manifest one's past can (perhaps paradoxically) be a sign of successful integration.
When talking about 'transported conflicts' we need to recognize that a conflict is not an object that is shipped and then taken out in a new place. Instead, conflicts are embedded in different contexts, waged by multiple actors, and entwine or overlap with other conflicts. A broader lesson learned from this study pertains to the multidimensional nature of these conflicts; they do not occur solely between two opposing diaspora communities but are multilayered and multi-sited. In fact, numerous, interrelated, conflict dimensions can be discerned: (1) Intra-diasporic conflict appears between pro-and anti-RPF diasporans in the Rwandan case, and between different factions within the Assyrian/Syriac group. (2) Inter-diasporic conflict is played out between Turks and Assyrians/Syriacs, but also between broader coalitions involving Azerbaijani, Kurdish and other diaspora communities. (3) Diaspora-homeland government conflict is seen between the Rwandan government and opponents in the diaspora, and between Turkey and those promoting genocide recognition and commemoration. (4) Diaspora-local population conflict can emerge when memorialization initiatives raise concerns among other groups in the country of residence, as in relation to the Seyfo monument in Södertälje. Broader societal contestations around racism, colonial legacies or Islam(ophobia) can, as we have seen, also entwine with diaspora memory conflicts. (5) Moreover, this study has shown how diaspora memory conflicts can become part of party-political competition locally and nationally, as political actors use genocide memory to mobilize support, and (6) how some memory conflicts turn into legal battles over what local government bodies can or cannot do. Finally, (7) diaspora memory conflicts may have an international relations dimension, as they have a bearing on, for instance, relations between Turkey and states where diaspora activists pursue genocide recognition and memorialization.
These seven conflict dimensions can function as a framework for researchers who wish to gain a both structured and nuanced understanding of transported conflicts in other cases than the ones dealt with here. Future studies are encouraged to rethink, challenge and develop the framework. I see the seven dimensions as relevant not only to memory conflicts, but also to other contestations that involve diaspora actors. However, since painful pasts are so important to migrants and their descendants, they are likely to continue to be pivotal to conflicts as they emerge and transform in new spaces-and thus to be an urgent topic for further research.

Disclosure Statement
No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Notes on Contributor
Camilla Orjuela is Professor of Peace and Development Research at the University of Gothenburg, Sweden. Her research has focused on diaspora mobilization, peace activism, identity politics, post-war reconstruction and reconciliation, famines, memory conflicts and transitional justice.