It is a curious thing when a medieval institution lectures a nation that once ruled a quarter of the globe on morality. Pope Francis, that darling of progressive opinion, has deigned to praise Spain’s handling of migrants while Britain dithers in a fog of bureaucratic confusion and self-flagellation. The Holy See, it seems, has appointed itself the moral arbiter of Europe’s asylum policies. But before we genuflect before this papal decree, let us recall that Spain’s approach – a mixture of charity and, let us be honest, sheer geographic luck – is hardly a blueprint for a nation that must contend with the English Channel, a body of water that does not have the decency to wash up migrants on the beaches of Marbella.
Britain’s moral leadership on asylum? The phrase itself is a paradox. We have spent the better part of a decade tying ourselves in knots over the Rwanda scheme, the Bibby Stockholm, and the endless processing of claims that seem to take longer than a Victorian novel. Meanwhile, Spain has expanded its network of reception centres in the Canary Islands and touted ‘integration’ as if it were a new invention. The Pope, with all the subtlety of a Renaissance cardinal, has praised this as a model for the world. But let us not confuse pragmatism with piety. Spain’s policy is born of necessity: its southern coast is a gateway from Africa, and its economy benefits from a steady supply of cheap labour. Britain, by contrast, has the luxury of insularity, and we have squandered it on hand-wringing and legal challenges.
The real question is not whether Britain can match Spain’s numbers – we cannot, because geography hates us – but whether we can match its honesty. The Spanish government does not pretend that every migrant is a refugee fleeing persecution. It admits that many are economic migrants seeking a better life. And while the Church wrings its hands, the Spanish state quietly returns those who do not qualify. Britain, in its obsession with being seen as virtuous, has created a system that rewards those who arrive illegally and punishes those who wait in line. This is not moral leadership. It is a moral hazard.
Pope Francis, of course, speaks from a position of unparalleled authority. He leads a church that has, over the centuries, been both a haven for the oppressed and a persecutor of heretics. His words carry weight, but they also carry a whiff of hypocrisy. The Vatican, after all, is a city-state with walls. It does not have to manage the chaotic logistics of asylum processing, the housing crisis, or the simmering resentment of a native population that feels its identity is being eroded. It is easy to be magnanimous when you have no constituents to answer to.
But let us give credit where it is due. The Pope’s endorsement of Spain’s stance is a reminder that Britain has lost its way. We once prided ourselves on offering a home to the persecuted: the Huguenots, the Jews fleeing the Nazis, the Ugandan Asians. That was moral leadership – a clear-eyed recognition of our duty combined with a practical system for integration. Today, we have neither. Our asylum system is a shambles, our rhetoric is muddled, and our sense of national purpose is in tatters. The Pope’s praise for Spain is a mirror held up to our own failures. We can either smash it in a fit of pique or use it to see ourselves as we truly are: a nation that has forgotten how to be generous without being naive.
So by all means, let the Pope have his say. But before Britain adopts a new model of asylum, let us first decide what we want to be: a nation of moral leadership or a nation of moral preening. The two are not the same.
