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I recently watched a movie based on a true story about a young man just back from Iraq, who was murdered, chopped into pieces and burned by young men he fought side by side with every day. Needless to say the movie shocked me, and brought tears to my eyes. But what shocked me most was why I was crying. I wasn't crying because the boy was murdered. I wasn't crying because it was the second son his parents lost. I wasn't even crying because the young men who murdered they boy felt no remorse for it.
No. What made me cry was the realization this movie brought about.
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