Atone Sliwo Ashur’s desire to build a fence around an elevated hilltop in Simele, a town in northern Iraq’s Dohuk district, seems innocent at first glance — just a few hundred meters of metal posts and barbed wire coiled around a mound of dirt.
But for those who know what lies beneath the soil, the barrier stands for something far greater: a long-overdue line of defense for the memory of a nearly century-old massacre.
The site, known as the Simele Archaeological Hill, is one of several mass graves tied to the Simele Massacre of 1933. Over five days, Iraqi forces and allied tribal militias carried out coordinated attacks on Assyrian communities, unleashing widespread killings, looting, and forced displacement across at least 65 villages. An estimated 6,000 Assyrians were killed. Assyrians worldwide recognize the tragedy each year on Aug. 7, referred to as Assyrian Martyrs’ Day.
For years, visitors to the hill reported human bones and personal effects protruding from the ground — grim evidence of a mass burial hidden under the surface.
Yet the absence of basic protections left the site exposed, allowing history to be disturbed.
“Animals and children have been digging the area, even exposing the bones of victims,” Ashur said. “And the dumping of trash inside the site caused unpleasant odors. These actions are unacceptable because the location is sacred and holds deep historical and national significance.”
Nearly a century after the massacre, Assyrians are still fighting for its recognition. In 2020, a group of academics penned a letter to government officials, U.N. agencies, NGOs and cultural institutions, urging a probe into the sites.
“An investigation of sites related to the Simele Massacre may yield critical evidence for future justice processes and create a historical record,” the letter reads. Led by the Assyrian Studies Association and a coalition of organizations, it adds that such efforts would help “reconfirm the dignity of the victims.”
Despite these calls, little has been done to formally protect the sites or acknowledge the tragedy locally. During two visits to the Simele Archaeological Hill in 2020, Miriam Zia documented striking changes just months apart.
“The human remains you could at times see protruding through the dirt months earlier were no longer there,” she said. “Instead, the site had been dug out — ceramics, pottery, artifacts of the life that had been on that hill in 1933, were strewn on the ground. But no sign to recognize who these ceramics belonged to. No sign to recognize that a genocide had occurred. No sign to say, ‘Here laid the remains of 6,000 innocent Assyrian children, women and men.’ And what has been done with these remains? Where have they been taken?”
While permanent recognition at Simele remains elusive, memorials to the massacre have emerged around the world. In Sydney, a statue commemorates both Ottoman-era and Simele victims. Last year in Chicago, a ‘Mother Assyria’ monument was unveiled at the Mar Sargis church in a suburb of Chicago.
Now, there’s a renewed push to build a permanent monument at the site itself. Led by nine Assyrian political parties and institutions, the goal is to complete the monument by Assyrian Martyrs’ Day in August 2026.
“A national project of this magnitude can only be achieved through the united efforts of Assyrians both in our homeland and across the diaspora,” wrote Carlo Ganjeh, the Secretary-General of the Assyrian Universal Alliance.
In the meantime, Ashur, representing the Khoyada youth group, began raising funds two years ago to erect a protective fence around the site. After a series of local rejections, he turned to Simele youth in the diaspora, who collectively donated $4,000 on the condition of anonymity. It wasn’t enough to complete the project, he said, but just enough to get started. He then applied for legal approval from local authorities — a process that took an additional three months.
Finally in December, Ashur hired six workers to start building the fence along the perimeter of the mound. The project took a month to complete. When construction finished, a vinyl sign was installed at its entrance that reads, “7 August 1933 — Assyrian Martyrs’ Day.”
Still, Ashur says, much remains unfinished. The fence doesn’t fully enclose the site, and ongoing cleanup and tree planting are needed.
“It has to become a proper place to be a grave site,” he said.