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Again I trace the two heroes: shadow and light. But today I see no light. O Lord, how have they betrayed me now? Is it no longer a masterwork? All that remains is shadow-no light at all... save for the faint glow upon the dead man's face. So who is the traitor? Is it I? You? Or this world that allowed a family to taste its final farewell, a world that stood in silence before all that unfolds? There is no traitor today but the one who funded the massacre, who armed it, who fed it. There is no traitor today but the one who watches. O Lord, how the painting has incarnated in this bitter reality. The colors have faded, some features lost, yet the deepest element still remains: sorrow... grief... betrayal. And silence, that savage silence, which once rose from the traitor of Christ, and now rises from the traitors of the victims of genocide.