…we ask only this: that you remember us, not as enemies, but as tragic sisters, changed into a foul shape by fate or God or evolution. If we had kissed, it would have been the miracle to make us human in each other’s eyes. Instead we killed each other. But still we welcome you now as guestfriends. Come into our home, daughters of Earth; dwell in our tunnels, harvest our fields; what we cannot do, you are now our hands to do for us. Blossom, trees; ripen, fields; be warm for them, suns; be fertile for them, planets; they are our adopted daughters, and they have come home.
That’s probably the loveliest passage in the book; it made me tear up. But while it is, in some sense, a plea for peace, acceptance and forgiveness, it is also a kind of final, irrefutable defense of genocide. Even those murdered recognize that they had to be wiped out. Even the victims recognize the justice of WMD, mass murder and imperial occupation. And even those he killed — especially those he killed — love the guy who massacred them. And they love him not despite the massacre, but because of it; we are told that it is because he was the one fighting them that they knew him and grew close to him.