When the first American pope wanted to deliver a message of freedom on July 4, he knew exactly where to go: a sunblasted rock in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea.
To those who have not been to this weathered huddle of peach buildings and crystalline beaches on the southernmost fringe of Europe, the choice might have appeared an odd one. Or perhaps one with a tinge of politics. The Italian island of Lampedusa is the first sight of Europe that many Africans have as they sail north toward what they hope is a better future. Its cemetery is where those who never arrived are remembered.
But Pope Leo XIV was making more than a statement of advocacy in calling for Europe to treat the migrants who arrive here and across the continent with more dignity. To him, the West’s toxic discourse about migration lays bare the great malaise in its democracies. The question of migration is, at its heart, he argued, a question of the love that binds and builds societies.
Why We Wrote This
Lampedusa is Europe’s primary entry point for migrants coming from Africa – a situation that those on the island welcome. Even as European mainlanders fiercely debate migration, Lampedusans view providing a safe harbor to newcomers as a sacred trust.
“The Gospel resounds where peoples meet, people welcome one another, their lives intertwine, and different cultures engage in dialogue,” he said during a public Mass in the city center.
And in telling that story, there were few better places to go than Lampedusa.
Experts say the island is a microcosm of how a mindset of charity and coordination can handle massive inflows of migrants – not without difficulty, but without the rupture of a sense of community and goodwill. In September 2023, Lampedusa’s 6,000 residents managed the arrival of some 12,500 migrants in a single day and 100,000 over a 10-month period. Tens of thousands continue to come each year, yet no widespread anger or bitterness grows.
For some Lampedusans, the experience of pulling dead bodies out of the sea has left a harrowing mark. For others, the waves of migration seem as old as the waves of the Mediterranean itself. This island – which is closer to Tunisia than Italy – has been a migration route for generations, and it has created an ingrained instinct of welcome. When you are a tiny town of fishermen separated from the world by leagues and leagues of unforgiving sea, safe harbor is a sacred trust.
Whatever the reason, it is this renowned Lampedusan sense of solidarity, as much as any policy, that offers vital lessons to the rest of Europe.
“Migration is so politicized, but here, there is an element of coordination that is a kind of best practices,” says Salvatore Sortino, director of the International Organization for Migration’s coordination office for the Mediterranean. “There is a pride in this humanitarian spirit.”
Giving dignity
Mr. Sortino is among the legions of migration officials and advocates who descended on Lampedusa for the pope’s visit. It is a pregnant moment for the issue of migration around Europe. Responding to pressures in many member nations, the European Union amended its system for processing refugees last month, making it stricter.
The idea is to make processing faster and more efficient. Experts say the reforms could do just that, and the system could benefit. Most immigration experts agree that the EU’s asylum laws were a triumph of European cooperation and respect for the dignity and rights of refugees. But the execution has been uneven and can be improved.
The worry is that the new measures could also become a way for states to start running roughshod over the asylum process, and this is where Lampedusa’s example is so pertinent. Even within the same laws, different interests can find the scope to reach very different outcomes. What matters more, in many ways, is common purpose.
At Lampedusa’s migration processing center, Francesca Basile sees that everywhere she looks. Tucked away in a grotto filtered by the shade of olive trees and Aleppo pine, the facility looks like a game of Jenga, badly played. Rectangular prefabricated buildings stack atop one another randomly and sprinkle out through the grotto, grimacing their rusting teeth to the unrelenting sun.
But everywhere are signs of what makes Lampedusa special, says Ms. Basile, head of the Migration Operations Unit for the Italian Red Cross, which runs the facility.
Police officers loiter in the shade, leaning against railings at casual angles that suggest the world’s problems are being solved. A worker in a United Nations shirt stands in a doorway poring over a document. EU and local officials are always present, too, Ms. Basile says.
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Such structures of cooperation are hardly unusual, of course. But the level of actual cooperation here is. IOM’s Mr. Sortino remembers being “incredibly positively impressed” the first time he came to the island last year. “There is a very good network working together,” says Ms. Basile, sitting under a tent in the facility. “This is the key aspect.”
Actual contact between migrants and the Lampedusan community has become less in recent years. Migrants rescued by the Italian coast guard or found on shore are brought here, and spend only a few days before being sent on to facilities elsewhere in Italy.
But everyone genuinely has the same goal: to help. And that enables the extraordinary. When asked what the capacity of the facility is, Ms. Basile doesn’t answer. There is no capacity, there is only the need. When the migrant flows were at their highest in 2023, everyone still received hot meals of chicken and rice.
For Ms. Basile, such determination is the pattern of a lifetime. A native of northern Italy, she joined the Red Cross the first day allowed by the organization (age 14) and was soon volunteering to help disabled members of her community while her friends went shopping on weekends.
“Our first principle is humanity,” says Ms. Basile. “What we really need is to give dignity.”
On Lampedusa, she finds that naturally reflected back.
“We also have the support of the community,” she says. “For them, it is normal for migrants to arrive. They are not upset when migrants arrive.”
Respect, hope
The migrants are never far from Lampedusans’ hearts and minds.
The night before the pope’s visit, many residents follow the cool night breezes into San Gerlando Parish church for a 10:30 p.m. Mass. By the time the service begins, the latecomers stand at the back. All the seats are taken. Looming over the priest as he begins is the image of Jesus on a crucifix of oars, made to symbolize the plight of migrants crossing the Mediterranean.
As the service nears a close, a young Black man is beckoned forward. He shares with the congregation the migrant experience. As he speaks with assurance in fluent Italian, two words repeat: “rispetto,” “speranza.”
Respect. Hope.
The ovation doesn’t stop until he again takes his seat.
The next day, Pope Leo pauses at the pier where most migrants first set foot on Italian soil. It has been renamed the Pope Francis Pier in honor of a visit the late pontiff made here in 2013. The plaque reads: “A place of refuge, hope, and humanity.”
Daniel Groody was grateful to see that moment. This July 4, he came from the United States to share it. He is the director of the Center for Latino Spirituality and Culture at the University of Notre Dame, and his book, “The Theology of Migration,” has a foreword by Pope Francis.
There is an entire chapter on Lampedusa. He recalls the local carpenter, so moved by the suffering of migrants that he made a chalice from the wood of refugee boats for Francis’ visit. The pope used it in his liturgy.
In his trip to Lampedusa this past weekend, Leo did not once mention the U.S. in his public remarks. But there was a message, Dr. Groody says. “The greatest freedom is the freedom to love.”