I lived in a small hillside community bordering the old town of Sarajevo. Every day, I walked past a cemetery where thousands of Bosnians who died in the Yugoslav War are buried. Vertical tombstones shrouded half the hillside in white, reminding people of the genocide that took place here. There were others in elsewhere in the world, and there will be another genocide, another terrorist attack, another hate killing; then another grave, another cemetery, and another monument, with or without the names of those who died. How could a passerby not pause and wonder why humans never stop killing each other?