Pope Leo, in a move that will surely be applauded by bien-pensant liberals and decried by nativist grumblers, has descended upon the Canary Islands. His purpose? To draw attention to the “perilous migrant journeys across the Atlantic.” A noble aim, no doubt. But let us resist the urge to genuflect before the altar of good intentions and instead scrutinise the historical stage upon which this drama unfolds.
We are witnessing a spectacle that would have delighted Gibbon: a spiritual leader, wielding ever-diminishing temporal power, attempting to moralise about the demographic tidal waves that are reshaping the West. The Canary Islands, once a stepping stone to the New World, now serve as a backdoor to Fortress Europe. The migrants, fleeing poverty and chaos in Africa, risk drowning or deportation. The Pope, draped in white, offers prayers and a media moment. But what of the deeper forces at play?
The decline of Western birth rates, the collapse of state institutions in the global South, the erosion of national sovereignty: these are the tectonic shifts that make a papal visit to a volcanic archipelago a mere photo op. The Church, once the arbiter of empires, now stands as a pious bystander to history. It is a role that suits the contemporary zeitgeist: gesture politics over realpolitik.
Let us not mistake empathy for policy. The migrant crisis is not a matter of compassion alone; it is a question of civilisational survival. The Roman Empire crumbled when it could no longer integrate its diverse peoples. The Visigoths did not arrive with passports and asylum applications, but the result was the same: a loss of cultural coherence and administrative capacity. The Pope’s message of brotherhood is lovely in a sermon. It is deadly as a state doctrine.
I am not arguing for barbed wire and gunboats. But I am arguing for honesty. The Atlantic route is perilous precisely because the forces pushing these migrants are relentless and the forces pulling them are ambivalent. Europe wants workers but not people; it wants cheap labour but not cultural change. The Pope’s blessing will not alter this calculus.
What would? A frank reckoning with the fact that the West’s humanitarian impulse is bankrupt without a corresponding sense of identity. We cannot welcome the world if we no longer know who “we” are. The Church, for all its universality, once understood this. It built a civilisation. Now it offers only tears.
So let the Pope bless the rescue ships and the cemeteries. But spare us the pretence that a visit to the Canary Islands will solve anything. The ships will still sink. The bodies will still wash ashore. And the great powers will continue to dither, mistaking gestures for statesmanship, while the barbarians are not so much at the gate as inside the walls, snapping selfies with the Vicar of Christ.
