Our country is one of the most unequal on earth. Millions of people live without secure housing, reliable water, adequate healthcare, or functioning schools. The infrastructure of our cities crumbles away. Youth unemployment sits at crisis levels, and public sports infrastructure in townships and rural areas is frequently derelict or non-existent.

Against this backdrop, R31-million spent on international travel, luxury accommodation, and hospitality for a ministerial delegation is scandalous. I went online to see how much a business-class ticket to Mexico would cost; the figure was between R90,000 and R120,000—say R200,000 return. That is exorbitant in itself, but the mind boggles at how, even flying business class, you can reach a figure of R31-million. This kind of excess is, to my mind, a direct diversion of resources from the realm of basic rights into the realm of prestige and self-aggrandisement. Some have praised the Minister for being transparent. That, in itself, is settling for the lowest common denominator. We should not praise public officials for doing what is basic to their duty.

International human rights law recognises economic and social rights—to housing, health, water, and an adequate standard of living—as legally significant, not optional aspirations. Our Constitution enshrines these rights explicitly, and obligates the state to take reasonable steps, within available resources, to realise them progressively.

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Every rand spent on a minister’s flights and hotel suites—and those of his hangers-on—was, by definition, available, and was chosen not to go toward that constitutional obligation. It could instead have funded community sports fields or youth facilities. This can, therefore, be framed as a human rights argument because resources that could have progressively realised socioeconomic rights were instead spent on excessive living and, according to the Minister, on branding the country. What are we branding the country for when many children lack a daily meal, water, education, and live in squalor?

McKenzie has defended the spending as a strategic investment with economic and cultural returns, and has promised full transparency once a traveller-by-traveller reconciliation is complete. He has a right to defend himself, and we should hear that defence, but one factor cannot be dismissed. A strong return on this kind of spending could plausibly benefit the country through investment, tourism, or exposure, but the burden of proof is high precisely because of what is being weighed against it. Spending taxpayers’ money—not his own—on frills that may or may not bear fruit, against a backdrop of dire deprivation, is not justifiable. There is little to suggest this will attract investment capable of making a real difference in people’s lives. The bottom line: The Minister has spent lavishly while millions live with unmet basic rights enshrined in the Constitution.

None of this negates the importance of sport, national pride, or international engagement. South Africa’s football success on the world stage matters, and government has a legitimate role in supporting it. But legitimacy requires proportionality and transparency. A government that cannot provide its poorest citizens with water, clinics, and classrooms cannot spend tens of millions on delegations to an overseas sports tournament. It is immoral.

The R31-million controversy should be understood not just as a political embarrassment, but as a living witness to whether the South African state is honouring its most basic obligations to its people. It is certainly not. The Minister of Sport, Arts and Culture has affirmed, again, that the government lacks even a hint of conscience for the plight of millions of desperately poor South Africans. This is a human rights violation; don’t be fooled.

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*This article was written for the Jesuit Institute South Africa weekly column.

An unofficial “deadline” was set by anti-migrant groups, most notably the “March and March” movement, for undocumented foreigners to leave the country — not a lawful directive, as President Ramaphosa and the police have repeatedly clarified — and this has further inflamed tensions. The leaders of “March and March” all seem to be angry yet wealthy and influential people who are not disadvantaged themselves.

Many people stayed away from work, and the country came to a standstill on 30 June 2026 when mass marches took place in towns and cities throughout the country against illegal migration. As the deadline approached, terrified migrants retreated to pop-up camps. Shameful visuals of women and children camping out for days in the open in winter, scared and without adequate ablution facilities, is an attack on the dignity of all.

The local Church, through the Southern African Catholic Bishops’ Conference (SACBC) and the South African Council of Churches (SACC), has spoken with unusual clarity and urgency. In a pastoral statement issued in May 2026, the bishops described these attacks as “symptoms of deeper, older failures and broken promises” and insisted that the root causes be “honestly addressed,” warning that otherwise “the cycle of anger, resentment and violence will continue to intensify.” Cardinal Stephen Brislin, SACBC President, has, for over a year, condemned the practice of denying migrants access to hospitals and schools, insisting that every person — regardless of documentation — has a right to medical care and education, and that no group of citizens has the authority to replace the police with mob action. In fact, South Africa’s Constitution goes even further than this. It emphasises that every person, whether or not they are a citizen, has access to the protections of the Bill of Rights. The right to dignity in the Constitution is a right to have our inherent dignity protected, a dignity we share with everyone, citizen or not.

As tensions rose towards the self-declared June 30 deadline, Bishop Thulani Mbuyisa, chair of the SACBC’s Justice and Peace Commission, appealed directly for calm, urging communities to refrain from violence and uphold the rule of law. Continental bodies, including SECAM, have echoed this, describing the violence as a violation of both Christian conscience and African values, while affirming that states retain a legitimate right to regulate immigration for the common good.

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The Society of Jesus recognises that this is a complex, multifaceted issue with no “quick-fix solutions”. This is not a simple story of citizens versus bad migrants, or of a virtuous Church versus a xenophobic mob. The men and women marching are often the same people who have been failed for decades by collapsed municipal services, over 30% unemployment, a housing backlog stretching a generation, and endemic corruption that has hollowed out local government and abandoned its own people. Many South Africans genuinely live in anxiety and fear of a future with no gainful employment, no housing, no food for their families, and no way to educate the next generation. The tragedy is that these legitimate grievances are being redirected towards the migrant next door rather than towards those who have the power and influence to change the situation.

The complexities of this are deeper. South Africa has not effectively controlled its borders; there has been a systemic failure, exacerbated by corrupt officials. The South African authorities have also made obtaining official documents (visas) difficult, often being inconsistent and unreasonable in their demands for people who lawfully seek to enter the Republic. This all contributes to the bigger problem.

Catholic teaching, from Fratelli Tutti, and the Catechism itself, holds two truths together: migrants have a right to dignity, safety, and access to basic services, while nations retain the right to order immigration justly. Neither truth cancels the other. The pastoral task before all of us is therefore twofold: unwavering solidarity with the migrant under threat, and equally unwavering honesty — and advocacy — about the failures of governance that leave local communities feeling forgotten. A Church that condemns violence only, without naming and confronting its causes, will not be heard by the very people it most needs to reach.

Pope Leo XIV’s recent teaching in Magnifica Humanitas reminds us that human dignity is not a pie to be divided among competing claimants, but a truth that expands when honoured for one and diminishes when denied to any. We must uphold the dignity of all.

To further analyse this issue, we cannot deny that we are living in a period of increasing global instability, in which more and more people are adopting a nationalistic, xenophobic and chauvinistic approach. We cannot rule out that there are also nationalist undertones to what is happening in South Africa, as in other parts of the world.

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The Jesuit tradition asks us to accompany both victims and the disenfranchised. Accompaniment means standing with migrants whose homes and livelihoods are destroyed, and with local people traumatised by crime and loss. It also requires careful analysis: tracing how corruption, weak policing, economic exclusion, and socio-political and geographical factors create fertile ground for “othering” narratives that lead to division and, ultimately, violence.

Equally, we must acknowledge that, all too often, those fleeing their countries of origin do so because of war, corrupt governance, economic failure, the denial of basic human rights, and repression. Identifying the political and criminal actors who manipulate tensions and recognising regional migration dynamics linking many African countries to the current situation in South Africa are important.

We must hold two truths together. First, many migrants who arrive in South Africa are brothers and sisters fleeing poverty, instability, or persecution; they deserve protection, dignity, and pastoral care. They are not suitable scapegoats for systemic failures at national, regional, and international levels.

Second, those who lash out—local men and women burdened by unemployment, deteriorating services, and a collapse of trust in institutions—express real and urgent grievances. Anger and fear, though never morally excusable when they turn to violence, call for pastoral listening, discernment, and concrete remedies.

St. Ignatius Loyola teaches us Jesuits to distinguish spirits — to ask what moves towards greater love and communion, and what moves towards fear, contraction, and scapegoating. Xenophobic violence is, spiritually speaking, a movement of desolation: it offers the false consolation of a scapegoat to blame, while leaving the underlying wounds — unemployment, corruption, broken municipal and national governance, and regional and international failures — untouched. The migrant shopkeeper becomes the visible target for an injustice whose real authors sit in cosy high places.

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Our Jesuit response must be practical and continentally minded. We call for immediate humanitarian protection: shelter, medical care, and legal assistance for those in danger, and accountable policing that protects all people impartially. We, through our institutions and various missionary endeavours, urge governments, regional bodies, and civil society to invest in long-term solutions to ease tensions and address this crisis. We need action, not words and platitudes which are so often the response to this cyclical violence. Employment, vocational training, and well-monitored cross-border economic initiatives that reduce zero-sum competition, as well as good ethical border control, are among the practical measures that can be taken. The regional reality and reasons that cause people to flee their homelands must be confronted. We also believe that religious leaders, educators, and the media across Africa must counter scapegoating with truthful narratives rooted in solidarity, shared histories, and Scripture’s call to welcome the stranger (Matt 25:35), while upholding the rights of nations to control their borders and their responsibility to care for their own people (Acts 17:26).

As Jesuits, we are called to form “men and women for others,” committed to structural change and personal conversion. We pray for the courage to confront injustice, the wisdom to design effective interventions, and the charity to love neighbour and stranger alike. Only by combining compassionate pastoral care, rigorous social analysis, and cooperative regional action can we begin to dismantle the conditions that breed violence and build a Continent where every person—migrant and citizen—lives in dignity and peace.

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*This reflection was written in response to a request from the Provincial of the Southern Africa Province of the Society of Jesus

It seems to me that it is important for us to be intellectually honest about the root causes of scarcity. Competition between locals and foreign nationals is real — for work, housing, healthcare, and public services. But this occurs within a prior context of structural inequality, poor governance, and resource mismanagement. When political actors either fail to confront their own failures or the struggles of their own people, and allow foreign nationals to be framed as the cause of scarcity rather than as fellow sufferers within it, they deflect legitimate anger away from the systems that created deprivation in the first place.

One of South Africa’s biggest gaping wounds is the abject poverty, poor education, and lack of sensitivity towards millions of our own people. This creates a tinderbox. Much of the resentment we are seeing directed at foreign nationals is not primarily about xenophobia, but about perceived unfairness in how resources are used and distributed. Transparent, fair, and consistently applied systems of resource allocation are therefore not merely administrative goods but social stabilisers.

When border control fails, for example, whether through corruption, under-resourcing, or political neglect, the consequences are not merely administrative. They are social. Unregulated and undocumented migration makes it impossible for host communities to know who has arrived, in what numbers, and with what needs. This breeds anxiety, and if left unaddressed, anxiety spills into suspicion and hostility.

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Corrupt border officials who accept bribes to wave people through undermine not only the law but also public confidence in the state’s basic competence to manage the common good. When citizens see that entry is governed by greed rather than by process, they reasonably conclude that the system has failed, and foreign nationals become the visible symbol of that failure, bearing the anger that rightly belongs elsewhere.

Effective, dignified, and transparent border management is not anti-migrant. Paradoxically, it is one of the most important protections migrants themselves can have — because when systems are trusted, fear diminishes, and with it, the social pressure that sparks xenophobic violence.

Research consistently shows that documented migrants can contribute economically, culturally, and socially to host communities, often filling labour gaps, starting businesses, and enriching cultural life. A genuinely just framework holds both sides of a crucial truth: foreign nationals possess the full dignity of human personhood and must be protected from violence and unlawful discrimination. At the same time, local people should be confident that their interests are also being safeguarded. We must state explicitly: all people — local and foreign alike — bear obligations to the communities in which they live. Rights without responsibilities produce resentment; responsibilities without rights produce oppression.

When migration is managed well, we seek not merely coexistence but something richer: communities in which the discovery of their humanity is enlarged rather than diminished by the presence of the other. Let us pray that all of us in South Africa realise this at this time.

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Wounded at Pamplona in 1521, St. Ignatius began a long, uncertain journey through convalescence, pilgrimage, and exile before finding his vocation. He walked strange roads, begged for sustenance, and was imprisoned by suspicious authorities more than once. It is no accident that the Society of Jesus, founded by St. Ignatius, became one of history’s most geographically mobile religious orders — men sent ad gentes (“to the nations”), to the ends of the earth, living as perpetual strangers in service of others.

So what would St. Ignatius say about the complex situation of migrants today?

First and most fundamentally, I think, he would insist that the migrant’s face is the face of Jesus (who, with his parents, was a forced migrant in Egypt). At the heart of his Spiritual Exercises is “the contemplation to attain love”. In this prayer, St. Ignatius invites the retreatant to see how God is labouring in all created things. St. Ignatius would see the fearful and exhausted mother crossing a border, the young man fleeing violence and political upheaval, the family rebuilding in a foreign country, not as problems to be managed but as living sites of the divine presence. The Spiritual Exercises help us seek God in unexpected places. The border crossing, the refugee camp, the detention centre, the inner-city church hall — these are precisely the places St. Ignatius would tell us to seek God.

Second, Ignatius would invite us to respond by discerning and not fearing what we face. His “Rules for Discernment” distinguish between consolation — movements that draw us toward greater love, charity and solidarity — and desolation — the contraction into self-interest and anxiety. Much of the political rhetoric around migration today is driven by desolation: fear of the other, false narratives, political expediency, scarcity thinking, and the closing of hearts. St. Ignatius, it seems to me, would counsel us to stop, pause, pray, and test the spirits. He would ask us a pertinent question: Do these sentiments, these attitudes, expand love or contract it?

Third, St. Ignatius was a man of charity. The early Jesuits ran hospitals, schools, and houses of welcome. He would not be content with warm sentiments alone. In Ignatian terms, welcoming the migrant requires a concrete institutional commitment — advocating for just immigration policy, challenging false narratives and those who use migration for political gain, funding legal aid, building language programmes, and making our churches genuine homes for all, especially newcomers.

Finally, St. Ignatius would tell us that the Church herself is a migrant people, always moving towards the Kingdom that has not yet fully arrived. To welcome the stranger is not charity extended downward — it is a mutual pilgrimage. Vatican II offers us a vision of the Church (in Lumen Gentium) as “The pilgrim people of God”. A community not yet arrived at its final destination, but journeying together through history toward the heavenly Jerusalem. We do not welcome migrants for their sake alone. We welcome them because, together, we are finding the way as God’s people.

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I want to begin this afternoon by pointing us to the title of this book: Southern Africa My Love. The title suggests that this is not only a collection of sermons and speeches. It is a pilgrimage, a testament to affection, and a deep connection with the people of this region. It reflects a journey of faith that has intertwined with the lives, hopes, struggles, and joys of the people of Southern Africa.

As I read and reflected on this text, I was struck by three overarching themes. And so, if you will allow me, I want to speak to those three themes this afternoon.

1. Pilgrimage

A little like St. Paul’s writings, this book gives us a glimpse of the geographical pilgrimage of the Nuncio, His Excellency Archbishop Henryk Jagodzinski, to many corners of Southern Africa in a relatively short time. Eshowe, Kimberley, Dundee, Zonderwater, Keimoes, Qucha’s Nek, Manzini, Tonata (if you don’t know where some of these places are, it means you have to buy the book!) … and I have to mention Benoni because that is very close to where I come from.

And, like St Paul, the book tells us of encounters with many different people — lay faithful, sodalities, religious, priests, bishops, government ministers, presidents and kings.

Vatican II presents us with a vision of the Church — most poignantly in Lumen Gentium — the Church as “The pilgrim people of God”. A community not yet arrived at its final destination, but journeying together through history toward the heavenly Jerusalem. This image emphasises movement, encounter, humility, and hope amid the challenges of mortal earthly existence.

I want to suggest to you today that this book offers a glimpse of movement, encounter, humility, hope, and the challenges facing the peoples of Southern Africa.

An Apostolic Nuncio — the Pope’s personal representative and diplomatic envoy to a nation or region — embodies this pilgrim reality in different ways.

A Nuncio is sent to a specific place of pilgrimage so that he can walk with the People of God in their particular cultural and historical context, much like a fellow pilgrim who strengthens the bonds of unity along the way. You will see this many times in this text – I gave up keeping count of how many times the Nuncio, addressing the people of our region, uses the phrases “I encourage you…” or “I assure you…”

Pilgrimage also involves leaving one’s comfort zone, crossing borders, and encountering the “other” in faith – in other words, being in a unique position to encounter and build bridges. Many times in the text His Excellency speaks of “dialogue” and “synodality”. Officially, he promotes dialogue between the Holy See and governments, bishops, and laity — embodying Vatican II’s call to a Church that is missionary, dialogical, and servant-oriented rather than self-enclosed. In this text, the Nuncio over and over again invites us all to be pilgrims of dialogue, to remember that we are all disciples who have to be open to listening and encounter and in our very listening, encourage and walk with others. He tells us that taking co-responsibility for this will “overcome dichotomies, fears and mutual differences” (p.83)

His Excellency also shows in the text the importance of witness in a hurting world. He does not shy away from naming some of the brokenness and challenges we face: governments and political parties investing in propaganda to deceive, falsified news and the slander of opponents, malicious and slanderous use of social media etc… (p22) or the difficulties families face today — betrayal, lack of respect, disobedience, misunderstandings (p203).

The Nuncio reminds us that the Pilgrim People of God are always in need of challenge and purification.

Through his diplomatic and pastoral presence, the text reveals a good knowledge of the issues that face families, local Church’s and nations in the region.

A pilgrimage has a destination; it is future-oriented. The Nuncio reminds us over and over that in communion with the universal Church and with Peter, our destination is the kingdom, orienting us always towards our ultimate goal as Church: that of salvation.

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2. Theology

Your Excellency, through this book you also show us not only a deep theological competence but a love for theology, for God. This makes his book not only a pilgrim’s diary but a lived example of post-Vatican II theology in action.

In an address to the Theology Faculty at the University of Pretoria, you remind us that theology “is not a detached speculation but faith in dialogue with reason — a pathway leading the believer to deeper communion with the One in whom we believe” (p121). The Nuncio also reminds us that theology ensures that the Church’s engagement with the world remains rooted in love and not ideology, and becomes the conscience of the Church’s mission, reminding us that all begins and ends with Christ (p122).

Maybe I can mention a few of the themes you repeatedly come back to — a good Ignatian trait! – to ensure that we remain faithful and engaged.

Let me begin where I started:

The Pilgrim People of God and Unity in Diversity: Consistent Lumen Gentium, the Nuncio frequently offers the image of the Church as a pilgrim community journeying together. In a homily, for example, at Johannesburg’s Cathedral for the 65th anniversary, he described the cathedral as the “mother church” and a visible sign of unity: a gathering place for all — rich and poor, diverse cultures and languages — where Christ the King builds one family through love rather than power.

Another theological theme His Excellency often returns is that of Christ the Good Shepherd and the Heart of the Priest/Pastor. At the inauguration of the academic year at St. Charles Lwanga Seminary in Namibia the Nuncio stresses interior transformation: seminarians (and all ministers) must first allow Christ to form their hearts before leading others. Formation is not merely intellectual but a deepening into the likeness of the Good Shepherd — gentle yet firm, compassionate, rooted in truth, and self-giving “until it hurts.”

Frequently, the Nuncio addresses a much spoken of theme in the Church in the last 5 years: Synodality, Communion, and Mission. The Nuncio highlights Synodality often and, in numerous addresses to bishops and consecrated persons, underlines collaboration, discernment, and the Church’s mission amid social challenges.

The very title of the book underscores an incarnational theology — love for people in a specific place — maybe we can say a theology of inculturation and affection, no doubt is inspired by your own affection and esteem for Pope St. John Paul II.

Let me say one more thing about the theology in the text. It is always hopeful and forward-looking — eschatologically orientated. Amid difficulties, the Nuncio repeatedly calls all people (often strongly seen in his addresses/homilies to youth and seminarians) not to fear but to boldness and holiness. The Church’s mission is always forward-looking: sustained by our daily prayer, the Eucharist, Mary’s example, and docile trust in the Holy Spirit. He writes, reminding us that this is not our final home, but a place of journeying towards fulfillment. (p285/6)

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3. The book is the pilgrimage journey of a Nuncio, a diplomat, but also that of a pastor.

The text of this book is in a pastoral tone. It is encouraging, realistic, and hope-filled — grounded in concrete events while oriented toward spiritual depth, communion, and missionary outreach. The Nuncio invites all people of goodwill not to allow the world to reshape us but rather to be shaped by the person of Christ (p284). In his speeches and homilies, the Nuncio models accompaniment: he walks with the People of God in the far-flung corners of Southern Africa, strengthening their faith and encouraging them on the journey, and, as a pastor, never moralising or chastising but showing solidarity with people in their own joys and struggles.

The pastoral orientation of many of the addresses, and specifically homilies, makes this book, I would suggest, especially valuable for priests, seminarians, and lay leaders. It is the text not of a diplomat, but a pastor.

Let me end with a quote from a sermon at Holy Trinity in Johannesburg:

”Therefore, we must have a holy ambition — an Apostolic desire — to extend the Kingdom of God. For twenty centuries the Church changed the world: through charity, through culture, through saints, through the defence of human dignity, through schools and hospitals, through the quiet heroes of Believers who lived the Gospel in their villages, their families, their workplaces. It was the Church that transformed the world — not the world that transformed the Church” (p284).

Thank you.

St John Vianney Seminary, Pretoria
15 June 2026

_{Picture taken by Sacred Photos}

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Leo’s encyclical, I would argue, is especially poignant for South Africa: a country navigating an unemployment crisis, staggering inequality, a fragile education system, corruption, and the disorienting pressures of the Fourth Industrial Revolution. The encyclical arrives as a prophetic intervention.

Magnifica Humanitas speaks with particular urgency to the South African context, and its retrieval of the principles of Rerum Novarum offers us not merely a framework for critique but a constructive vision for the important task of human development in a society still shaped by its unjust apartheid past.

Looking back at Rerum Novarum

To understand Magnifica Humanitas, we must understand what Rerum Novarum did in 1891. Published during the Industrial Revolution, Leo XIII’s encyclical confronted a world in which new technologies and modes of production had created immense wealth while simultaneously degrading the condition of working people. It insisted, against both laissez-faire capitalism and revolutionary socialism, that the human person is not a unit of economic production but a being of inherent dignity, made in the image of God. Rerum Novarum affirmed the right to just wages, to form associations, to rest, and to participate meaningfully in economic life. It placed the defense of the poor at the heart of the Church’s mission.

Pope Leo XIV, writing 135 years later, does not simply repeat Leo XIII. What he does is attempt to apply the Church’s mission to our current context in a practical way. Just as Leo XIII responded to the industrial res novae — the ‘new things’ of his age — Leo XIV responds to the digital res novae of ours. The encyclical is explicit: “While Leo XIII spoke in his time of new things (rerum novarum), today we cannot limit ourselves simply to repeating his insightful teachings. Instead, we must ask God for the wisdom to interpret the great trends of our time” (Para #4). That wisdom, for South Africa, has never been more needed.

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South Africa’s unemployment crisis

Few themes in Magnifica Humanitas resonate more acutely in South Africa than the encyclical’s treatment of work and unemployment. South Africa carries one of the highest unemployment rates in the world — officially 32,7%, with the expanded unemployment rate at around 43,7%. The rate for young people is at a devastating rate, 60,9%. It is into this context that the Pope issues a stark warning: the pursuit of greater profit cannot justify choices that systematically sacrifice jobs, because the human person is an end, not a means. He invokes John Paul II’s characterisation of unemployment as a “grave evil” in his encyclical Laborem Exercens (Para #18), and warns that without bold decisions, the prospect of “greater poverty and inequality looms large, which would leave many individuals marginalised, stranded and surrounded by the machines and automated systems that have replaced them” (Para #157).

Rerum Novarum already established that labour is not a commodity. It gave theological grounding to what workers instinctively knew: that stripping a person of meaningful work wounds their dignity. Magnifica Humanitas extends this principle into the age of automation, demanding that AI and digital systems be deployed not to maximise returns for shareholders, but to serve the integral development of every human person.

In a country where millions remain excluded from meaningful economic participation — not only because of current conditions which have been created by poor policy and governance but because of the deliberately exclusionary architecture of apartheid which still haunts the country — this is not abstract theology. It is a direct challenge to the way South Africa’s economy is structured and to whom it serves.

The striking difference between Babel and Jerusalem

One of the encyclical’s most striking images is its contrast between the Tower of Babel and the rebuilding of Jerusalem under Nehemiah. Babel represents the concentration of power, the homogenisation of difference, and the claim to self-sufficiency without God. It is a project built on pride, efficiency, and the sacrifice of the vulnerable. The encyclical warns that the global AI revolution risks constructing a new Babel: a world in which technology is owned and controlled by a small number of transnational private actors whose resources and reach exceed those of most governments.

South Africa should take this warning very seriously. The country sits at the intersection of multiple vulnerabilities: a legacy of structural inequality rooted in racial dispossession, a weak educational infrastructure ill-equipped to prepare young people for a digital economy, a weak government that cannot implement good policy, high levels of corruption and a dependence on global technology platforms whose terms are set elsewhere. The encyclical specifically warns against “digital colonialism” — the reduction of human lives to exploitable data, and the consolidation of informational power in the hands of those who are already powerful. For a country that knows the deep wounds of colonialism in its most physical form, this language carries particular moral weight.

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Nehemiah’s Jerusalem offers a counter-image: a city rebuilt not through top-down imposition but through shared responsibility, listening, and the recognition that strength comes from God.

South Africa’s Constitution — and its vision of a democratic, non-racial, non-sexist society — aspires to something, perhaps, like Nehemiah’s vision. Magnifica Humanitas invites South Africans to ask whether the digital transition we are navigating serves that vision or undermines it.

The truth as common good

The encyclical’s fourth chapter addresses truth as a common good — a theme of urgent relevance in a society where disinformation spreads rapidly through social media, where political manipulation exploits digital platforms, and where many communities lack the critical media literacy to distinguish reliable information from fabrication. Pope Leo XIV calls for “an ecology of communication” and stresses the central role of schools in forming citizens capable of navigating the digital environment with wisdom and integrity.

South Africa’s education system, burdened by decades of under-investment, poor policy and the enduring legacy of apartheid, faces extraordinary pressure. Many schools still lack basic infrastructure, let alone the capacity to deliver digital literacy. Here, the encyclical’s retrieval of Rerum Novarum’s insistence on the right to education takes on renewed urgency.

If Catholic schools, parishes, and institutions take the Pope’s call for “an educational alliance for the digital age” (Para #139), they have an opportunity to become genuine agents of transformation — not by importing foreign technology uncritically, but by accompanying communities in developing the capacities they need to engage the digital world on their own terms in their own context.

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A vision for a wounded society

At the deepest level, Magnifica Humanitas is not primarily about AI. It is about who the human person is, and what any social order owes to that person. Following the long line of Catholic social teaching from Rerum Novarum through Gaudium et Spes, Centesimus Annus, and Laudato Si’, it insists that human beings are not projects to be optimised, not units of production, not data points in an algorithm. They are, each one, made in the image of a God who became flesh — who entered history not as a system but as a person in Jesus Christ.

South Africa, with its extraordinary diversity of peoples and its painful history of dehumanisation, needs this vision urgently. The encyclical’s emphasis on the equal dignity of all human beings, on the universal destination of goods, on solidarity and subsidiarity, and on the particular claims of the poor, is not principles invented in Rome for European conditions. They are the grammar of justice in any society that takes seriously the question of what it means for all its members to flourish.

Just as Leo XIII addressed the injustices of industrialisation, so Leo XIV now addresses the injustices of the digital revolution — and both encyclicals call the Church to accompany the most vulnerable, not merely comment from a distance.

The choice is ours: Jerusalem or Babel

The Fourth Industrial Revolution is not waiting for South Africa to resolve its inequalities before arriving. It is already here. Magnifica Humanitas offers South Africans — Catholic and non-Catholic alike — a framework for engaging this revolution with wisdom, courage, and a clear moral compass. It calls for technology that serves people rather than displacing them, education systems that equip rather than exclude, communication environments that foster truth rather than manipulation, and economies that measure progress by the dignity of each person rather than the profits of the few.

That framework is rooted in Rerum Novarum’s enduring conviction: that no economic or technological arrangement is morally neutral, and that the Church must always evaluate the world’s “new things” by asking what they do to the human person, and especially to the poor.

In South Africa, where so many still wait for the promises of 1994 to reach them, Pope Leo XIV’s magnificent humanity is a timely and necessary challenge to build not Babel — impressive, efficient, and ultimately inhuman — but Jerusalem: a city rebuilt together, in the presence of God, where every person has a place at the table.

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I had written about this HERE on 26 May 2026 when the encyclical was released - I have tried to revisit what I said briefly.

At its heart, Ignatian spiritual accompaniment is a relationship between three people — the accompanier, the accompanied, and God. The spiritual accompanier does not offer advice, solve problems, or provide theological lessons. Instead, they create a spacious, prayerful environment in which the one being accompanied can prayerfully pay attention to their own inner experience and discern the presence and action of God within themselves and their daily lives. The accompanier’s role, as St. Ignatius describes it, is simply to help the other person encounter God directly — not to stand between them.

The practice draws heavily on St. Ignatius’s Spiritual Exercises, a structured process of prayer and reflection originally designed as a month-long retreat. Central to St. Ignatius’ method is the awareness of consolation and desolation — two interior movements he identified as important ingredients of one’s spiritual life. Consolation refers to movements of peace, joy, and a deepening of faith; desolation to inner turmoil, heaviness, and a sense of distance from God. A skilled Ignatian accompanier helps the one being accompanied notice these movements without immediately reacting to them, learning instead to read them as a kind of interior language through which God communicates with us.

Spiritual Accompaniment sessions typically take place once a month and last around an hour. The one being accompanied shares what has arisen in their prayer, daily life, and emotional landscape. The accompanier listens attentively, asks clarifying questions, and occasionally offers a reflection or a scripture passage — always directing attention back toward God rather than toward the accompanier themselves.

The benefits of this practice are both immediate and cumulative. In the short term, people who are frequently accompanied report a greater sense of self-awareness, a calmer inner life, a renewed engagement with prayer and a living relationship with God. Over time, the deeper fruits emerge: a growing capacity to make decisions in alignment with one’s deepest values, a more integrated sense of identity before God, and what St. Ignatius called seeking God in all things — a contemplative quality of attention that gradually permeates ordinary life. In other words, a deep sense of God’s faithful presence and action in our lives.

Ignatian spiritual accompaniment is not reserved for some; it is for everyone desiring to truly be a disciple of Jesus, living close to God’s heart. It is offered widely today through retreat centres, parishes, and trained lay accompaniers. It remains as practically relevant today as it was five centuries ago — a quiet, patient practice of learning to listen to God’s voice and live in God’s heart.

We are privileged that the Jesuit Institute South Africa offers this wonderful ministry and opportunity, and has trained many excellent men and women to be accompaniers. If you are seeking someone to help you walk more deeply with Christ, feel free to ask the Institute: retreats@jesuitinstitute.org.za

I have been wondering how St. Ignatius of Loyola, the 16th-century Spanish mystic and founder of the Jesuits, might help us navigate these difficult times. Rooted in his Spiritual Exercises, he seems to me to offer us some wisdom for navigating worry and anxiety. He wrote centuries before modern psychology, yet his insights remain helpful for us today.

St. Ignatius would never tell you simply to “stop worrying.” He doesn’t dismiss our feelings. Instead, he invites you to examine your anxiety with curiosity. His practice of discernment encourages us to ask: where is this feeling coming from? Is it leading me towards greater love, peace, and God — or away from them? In St. Ignatius’ thinking, anxiety is not an enemy to be crushed but a signal worth listening to. It may point to something that needs attention, or it may be a “desolation” — a spiritual disturbance that, if followed blindly, will lead us into a deeper sense of disconnection and anxiety.

One of St. Ignatius’s most practical gifts is the Daily Examen (or Praying through my Day) — a short, structured prayer of reflection at the end of each day. Rather than letting worries accumulate unchecked, the Examen invites you to review your day with gratitude, notice where you felt consolation or desolation, and gently release what you cannot control. This daily habit interrupts the cycle of anxiety by grounding you in the present moment and in a sense of being accompanied — you are never alone in your struggles — and helps you discover Jesus, who says, “I am with you always, to the end of time” (Matthew 28:28).

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One of St. Ignatius’s most important pieces of advice is: never change course during a time of desolation. When anxiety is loud and fear is in control, it is the worst time to make important decisions about our lives. He counsels patience — to hold steady, maintain your routines, and wait for the storm to pass before acting. This is a powerful antidote to anxiety-driven impulsivity and can help us avoid regretting hasty decisions that lead to more stress later.

Central to St. Ignatius’ worldview is the conviction that God is at work in all things — including anxiety! St. Ignatius, who endured severe illness, opposition from family, scruples, spiritual desolation, and repeated failure, came to believe that nothing is ever wasted. This doesn’t mean denying worry, but rather positioning it within a larger story of God’s providence and purpose. Anxiety shrinks when we genuinely believe we are supported by God. We change our way of thinking: I am no longer alone, anxious, fearful of what may come, and seeing negativity all around me. I now see that there are challenges, and each one is an opportunity for God to support me.

Finally, St. Ignatius was a man of action. He would encourage you to do what is within your power — make the plan, have the conversation, take the step — and then surrender the outcome. The famous prayer attributed to him captures this perfectly: do everything as if it depends on you, and trust as if it all depends on God.

St. Ignatius’ wisdom, it seems to me, doesn’t promise a worry-free life, but it offers something better — a way to try and live faithfully and peacefully in uncertainty.

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The image with this post is credited to the Jesuit Media General Curia Communications Office, Rome.

Goldstein, in his outrageous speech (doing its rounds on social media), said that Pope Leo’s hands “are dripping with blood because he makes no distinction between the barbarians of Hamas and the genocidal maniacs of Tehran and the noble and brave soldiers of the state of Israel.” He went on to say that the Pope, by failing to distinguish between good and evil, disqualifies himself from religious leadership. Goldstein insisted that Israeli soldiers who had died were saints and martyrs. He claimed that they had not only defended Israel but civilisation itself. Goldstein is sadly an uncritical apologist for the war-mongering Netanyahu government.

Goldstein’s address, blessing war and the unimaginable suffering that results from violence, lacks even the most basic human and compassionate approach one might expect from a religious leader for the innocent victims, women and children, of Israel’s ongoing deadly actions in Gaza, the West Bank, Lebanon and across the Middle East. Instead, he used the language that warmongers have used through the centuries to justify war. Rather than using the public event to promote peace and join other global religious leaders in advocating for peace, he praised and encouraged deadly violence and genocide.

Goldstein’s attack on Pope Leo XIV is as confused as it is politically expedient at a time when more and more people across the world are questioning Israel’s actions. To begin with, Pope Leo did not invent the phrase “your hands are full of blood.” He quoted the Prophet Isaiah (1:15), a Jewish prophet writing in the Hebrew Bible, whose words have warned kings and leaders against the moral corruption of violence for nearly three millennia. Isaiah faced a similar situation in his own time; he saw corruption and called it out. He was not afraid to speak truth to power. For Goldstein to weaponise that scripture text against a Pope who invoked it in the cause of peace is, at best, deeply ironic. At worst, it represents a troubling willingness to manipulate people of faith for political gain, something Goldstein seems comfortable with and unashamed of, like other world leaders.

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Goldstein makes another false claim, which must be pointed out. Calling for peace, as Pope Leo has consistently done, is not the same as taking sides. The Pope, like his predecessor, Francis, has been unambiguous in condemning Hamas’s October 7 attacks. Pope Francis, like Leo, never said that a state does not have the right to defend itself; he did, however, say that this should be done with proportionality, something we can argue has certainly not been the case. On the second anniversary of 7 October, Leo XIV condemned actions which were “both terrorism and recent episodes of antisemitism”. He said that Hamas’ attack was “an act of terrorism that cannot be tolerated”, while simultaneously expressing anguish at the scale of civilian suffering in Gaza. The Pope also said, “We must reduce hatred, we must rediscover the ability to dialogue, to seek peaceful solutions.”

These two positions are not contradictory. They are the minimum requirements of consistent ethical and religious leadership. Goldstein accuses Leo of not distinguishing between good and evil. The Pope was balanced and just, not manipulative, addressing the suffering on both sides of the conflict. Such a balanced view shows a depth of ethical leadership and deep concern for all involved. He did not make dangerous fake claims that risk fuelling the conflict. It was Goldstein’s assertions that laid bare his own religious leadership and brought it into question.

Pope Leo XIV, like Pope Francis before him, is not some radical outlier in Catholic tradition. Popes have consistently spoken out against violence and war, even at great personal and institutional risk. In 1937, Pope Pius XI issued Mit Brennender Sorge — “With Burning Concern” — a remarkable encyclical smuggled into Germany and read from Catholic pulpits, criticising the deification of race and state that underpinned Nazi ideology. It was an act of moral courage in the face of a totalitarian regime.

Decades later, Pope John Paul II visited Auschwitz, prayed at the Western Wall, and became the first pope to enter a synagogue — embodying a commitment to Jewish-Catholic reconciliation that Leo XIV had pledged to continue. Pope Francis, for his part, called repeatedly for ceasefires and the protection of civilians throughout the Gaza conflict. The call for peace is not a departure from papal tradition; it is at its very heart. Rabbi Goldstein, in his repeated attacks on the papacy, seems to conveniently omit important facts, which is nothing short of disgraceful.

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Whilst Goldstein is entitled to disagree with the Pope’s approach, or even critique the Church, which is not above reproach, he is not entitled to misrepresent it and call into question the Pope’s moral authority because it does not suit his narrative. By doing so, he is a purveyor of fake news. To suggest that a call for peace makes one complicit in bloodshed is preposterous and must be denounced by any rational person of faith who values the truth. People of faith should not allow the truth to be manipulated, especially by religious leaders.

Goldstein also risks doing damage to Jewish-Catholic dialogue. For many decades, the Catholic Church and Jewish Community have made progress in dialogue, which has not always been easy but has led to growing mutual respect and cooperation for the common good. Goldstein undermines the work that has been done. We must not let him ruin the fruit of goodwill in Jewish-Catholic relations with his reckless speech.

People of faith, and all people of goodwill, want a world where Christians, Jews, Muslims and people of all nations, creeds and tongues can live in equality, justice and peace so that all human beings can flourish. It is sentiments like those Goldstein espouses that prolong conflicts and undermine religious voices in the public square. Religious voices are pushed to the periphery in society, precisely because of this kind of illogical narrative. The idea that urging restraint and calling for peace is equivalent to siding with the enemy is ridiculous. People from all backgrounds suffer when such rhetoric goes unchallenged in public spaces.

Pope Leo XIV is doing what religious leadership is supposed to do: speak uncomfortable truths to power, grieve for the innocent on all sides, and refuse to let God’s name be used as a justification for war. That is not a weakness; it is the oldest tradition in both our faiths. How different would it be if Goldstein had chosen to be on the side of peace and human flourishing?

Rabbi Goldstein’s energies might be better spent working alongside people of goodwill towards the peace that the Prophet Isaiah calls for, rather than attacking and fueling conflict.

It is his own integrity which is at stake for all to see, and certainly not that of Pope Leo XIV. The least he could do is apologise to the Pope, people of goodwill and members of the Jewish community who suffer too because of this reckless attitude that encourages violence and war, spreading fake news in support of it.

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AI refers to machines capable of performing tasks that require human intelligence—such as learning, reasoning, and problem-solving.

For some, AI promises unparalleled progress. But it also brings significant drawbacks and existential dangers. While the benefits are tangible and immediate, the risks demand urgent ethical and regulatory measures to ensure AI serves humanity rather than endangers it. Pope Leo does not condemn AI, but he does say we must be vigilant. He writes: “Embracing the opportunities offered by digital technology and artificial intelligence with courage, determination and discernment does not mean turning a blind eye to critical issues, complexities and risks.”

The advantages of AI are evident in several areas. In healthcare, AI algorithms can analyse medical images with greater accuracy than many radiologists, enabling earlier detection of diseases like cancer. Drug discovery, once a decade-long process, has been accelerated by AI models that simulate molecular interactions. In education, adaptive learning platforms personalise instruction for millions of students, closing achievement gaps in under-resourced areas. Economically, AI automates routine tasks in manufacturing and logistics, boosting efficiency and lowering costs—potentially adding trillions to global GDP according to industry estimates. For individuals with disabilities, tools such as real-time speech-to-text and computer vision help restore independence. Environmentally, AI optimises energy grids and predicts climate patterns, aiding sustainability efforts. These advantages are from AI’s ability to process vast datasets faster and more consistently than humans, freeing people to focus on creative and strategic work.

However, there are serious concerns too. The most worrying one is job displacement: automation threatens roles in transportation, retail, and administrative sectors, potentially leaving millions unemployed and therefore deepening inequality. AI systems also inherit and amplify human biases present in training data, leading to discriminatory outcomes in employing people, lending, and criminal justice. Privacy erosion is another concern; the data-hungry nature of AI raises surveillance fears, as companies and governments collect personal information with limited oversight. Over-reliance on AI can erode critical human skills—such as critical thinking, emotional intelligence, and manual abilities. There is also a high environmental cost, including energy consumption and carbon emissions from data centres. AI lacks true understanding or empathy, often offering answers but lacking something that is critical to being human.

The dangers of AI extend beyond these practical issues into potentially disastrous scenarios. Misuse can pose immediate threats: deepfake technology can undermine elections and erode trust in institutions, while autonomous weapons systems risk lowering the threshold for conflict and sparking uncontrolled escalations. More importantly, the pursuit of artificial general intelligence (AGI) can lead to the surpassing of human cognition. This means that AI systems could potentially misalign with human values and pursue goals harmful to humanity. If these are not controlled, superintelligent AI could prioritise self-preservation or resource acquisition over human welfare, posing existential threats to people. Without robust governance, these dangers could outpace our ability to adapt.

AI represents a double-edged sword: a powerful tool for human flourishing, yet one that demands vigilance. Its advantages in efficiency and innovation are undeniable, yet its disadvantages are serious as well. “Humanity”, Pope Leo says, “must steer AI responsibly, prioritising human values if we are to use it well.” He says the “task laid before us is not to stop digital innovation, but rather to guide it and to be aware of its ambivalent nature.” The choices we make today will determine whether AI becomes our greatest ally or our most formidable challenge.

Jesuit Institute South Africa

Social media tends to reward rapid and widespread dissemination of information, often at the expense of accuracy. Emotional content, often manipulating fear and anger, spreads fastest, and algorithms often boost it. AI-generated content is lowering the barrier to creating convincing fakes, thereby reducing overall trust.

Vulnerable groups, like those with lower media literacy, strong pre-existing beliefs, or high emotional involvement, are most at risk. But everyone can be affected through repeated exposure.

The word “fake news” is thrown around liberally these days. Sometimes it is used to deflect from the truth - we have seen this when an accusation is brought against someone, and they dismiss it as “fake news”. It is easy to accuse someone of spreading “fake news”. On the other hand, sometimes people try to justify their positions and authority by spreading fake news that appeals to people’s emotions, purposefully manipulating them for their own selfish interests.

We need to think about how we consume information and how we interpret what we read and hear. What we read and hear shapes our views of the world and our actions. We can easily be led into the sin of judgment through falsehoods.

What is “fake news”? It is the intentional fabrication of misleading information presented as legitimate. It includes outright lies, manipulated images or videos, exaggerated claims, and selective editing designed to deceive. Unlike genuine reporting errors, fake news is created to mislead audiences for political gain, financial profit, or social disruption. It spreads rapidly through social media, messaging apps, and partisan websites, often mimicking the style and format of credible news outlets to appear authentic.

The dangers of fake news are far-reaching. It undermines public trust in established institutions, from governments and scientists to mainstream media. When people can no longer agree on basic facts, democratic processes suffer: elections can be swayed by viral falsehoods, as seen in numerous global campaigns where false stories influence voter behaviour. Fake news can also fuel division and violence.

Conspiracy theories about elections or public health have incited protests, riots, and even deaths. Think of a health crisis like COVID19. False claims about vaccines or treatments have led people to reject proven medical advice, resulting in preventable illness and loss of life. Economically, fake stories can crash stock prices or manipulate markets within hours.

On a societal level, it deepens polarisation by creating echo chambers where opposing views are demonised, eroding empathy and civil discourse.Navigating fake news requires deliberate habits rather than passive consumption.

So what can we do?

Our first defence is, paradoxically, scepticism. Pause before reacting to emotionally charged headlines or shocking images. Ask yourself: Who benefits from this story? Does it rely on anonymous sources or extraordinary claims without evidence? Mots importantly, cross-check with at least two other reputable news outlets from different perspectives. Fact-checking organisations such as Africa Check (relevant for South Africans), Snopes, or Reuters Fact Check provide quick verification tools. Examine the source: Is it a known satirical site, a parody account, or an unfamiliar blog with no editorial standards?

Practical ways to avoid being tricked include discerning your information diet. Follow verified journalists and established news organisations rather than relying solely on social media feeds. Adjust platform settings to reduce algorithmic recommendations of sensational content. Use reverse-image search tools (available on Google or TinEye) to verify photos and videos that accompany viral posts. Develop media literacy by learning common red flags - for example, sensational language (“You won’t believe…”), urgent calls to action (“Share before it’s deleted”), or claims that confirm your existing biases without new evidence. Do not simply hit the share button if you are not sure if what you have seen and read is true. Don’t become an undiscerning purveyor of fake news. Teach these skills to your family (especially your children, who are more at risk than anyone) and your friends, because collective awareness reduces the spread. Talk about it.

Ultimately, avoiding fake news is an ongoing practice of critical thinking. I am increasingly concerned that, with the advent of social media and AI, we are becoming intellectually lazy. Think about what you see and read critically. Just because some authority figure says it, sadly, in the times we live, does not mean it is true! By treating every story as potentially suspect until verified, we reclaim control over what shapes our worldview and, ultimately, our behaviour. In an age of instant information, the most powerful tools we have are critical thinking and verification.

Staying informed without being manipulated strengthens personal judgment, fosters healthier public conversation, and, from a spiritual point of view, keeps us from making or acting on lies that can harm us and others.

Jesus tells us: “If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:31-32). More than ever, we need to ensure we spread truth, not falsehood. That is why it is important that we check in and ask ourselves regularly, “Am I being manipulated by falsehood?”

Popes have always confronted immoral leaders; that is what they do. From the eleventh century, when Pope Gregory VII excommunicated Holy Roman Emperor Henry IV for trampling church independence, to the twentieth century, when Pope Pius XI issued the searing 14 March 1937 (almost 89 years to the day!) encyclical Mit Brennender Sorge openly condemning Nazi ideology and the “neopaganism” of Hitler’s regime. The papacy has refused to stay silent when power becomes predatory. Pope John Paul II fought Soviet communism and backed Solidarity in Poland. He also condemned apartheid and, in 2003, the war the US raged on Iraq. Pope Francis, talking about the war in Ukraine in 2022, said: “War is a defeat for humanity, which we need to defeat, all of us.” Time and again, when emperors, dictators, and presidents have chosen violence, conquest, or the cult of personality over justice, popes have called them to account—not out of political partisanship, but out of fidelity to the Gospel: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” (Matthew 5:9)

Pope Leo XIV is simply continuing that unbroken tradition. His recent warnings about the “delusion of omnipotence” driving the US-Israel war in Iran, his appeals to end the slaughter, and his insistence that no nation has the right to play God with nuclear weapons are not partisan jabs. They are the Church’s perennial critique of warmongering. Trump’s administration, backing the bloodthirsty Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has escalated military action against Iran, boasting of preventing a nuclear threat while ignoring the civilian carnage and the dangerous precedent of endless pre-emptive war. The Pope sees what Trump refuses to: that “strength” measured only in bombs and body counts is moral bankruptcy. Calling this out is not “catering to the Radical Left.” It is Catholic Social Teaching in action: just war criteria, the preferential option for the poor, and the command to be peacemakers seeking the common good.

Trump’s narcissistic meltdown exposes the man more than anything. Narcissism is defined by grandiosity, hypersensitivity to criticism, and a pathological inability to
apologise or empathise. Watch Donald Trump. He does not debate ideas; he demeans and destroys critics. He does not reflect on policy failures; he attacks the character of anyone who dares to question him.

Pope Leo is a spiritual leader who becomes “weak” the instant he challenges Trump’s self-image as an infallible strongman. Leo, the first US-born pope, is told to focus on “being a Great Pope, not a Politician” as if moral witness itself is now partisan. This is the same man who once claimed he could shoot someone on Fifth Avenue and not lose voters. He still believes the rules of common human decency do not apply to him.

To add insult to injury, Trump went on to post an AI-generated image, showing himself in flowing robes, hand glowing as he “heals” a sick man amid American flags, eagles, and fighter jets, as if he were Jesus. This sparked immediate outrage, even from some of his evangelical and Catholic supporters. Many on the right labelled it sacrilegious.

Trump then quickly deleted the post and denied any messianic intent. He claimed he saw himself as “a doctor” working with the Red Cross – there was no red cross in the picture, strangely. This episode, surely, should raise further concerns about his narcissism and fragile ego.

The Catholic Church does not exist to flatter presidents. It exists to speak truth to power, even, especially, when that power wears a red tie and commands the world’s most expensive military. Pope Leo has made clear he has “no fear” of the Trump administration. He will keep denouncing the horrors of war because that is what popes do when leaders choose empire over humanity. On arriving in Algeria, the Pope did not mince his words. “The future belongs (to) those who do not allow themselves to be blinded by power or wealth,” he said. “Africa knows all too well that people and ​organisations that dominate others destroy the world.” He went on to encourage Algerian leaders to build a society grounded in the principles of justice and solidarity. “Today, this is more urgent than ever in the face of continuous violations of international law and neocolonial tendencies,” Leo said.

Trump’s refusal to apologise is not a strength; it is fragility wrapped in bravado. History will record this episode not as a victory but as another sad chapter in one man’s inability to place country and conscience above self, and the gravest thing is that those around him are blind to seeing this or too scared to call him out.

Pope Leo is finding his voice; he has done his duty as a spiritual leader. The question is whether enough Americans still remember that moral courage, not bombast, is the true measure of greatness.

Roets announced in a media statement on X that his Lex Libertas movement and the New York Young Republican Club planned to follow-up actions in the U.S. aimed at bringing South Africa’s crisis to the attention of the U.S. government and the broader Western world.

I know that, at times, I can be sharp on social media and come across as arrogant, something I need to reflect on over and over. Maybe my use of the word “disgrace” was inappropriate. However, there is also always context which the likes of X don’t allow. I have been reflecting on the so-called accusation and thought that I would share some of my reflections to give my social media interactions (and frustration with Roets) some context.

I posted in response to Roets because the narrative he is peddling is false and dangerous. For the record: there is no ethnic cleansing, genocide or targeting of minority groups in South Africa, Afrikaans people themselves have said this. There are laws that seek to empower people of colour, just as there were laws that, for many years, disempowered people of colour and empowered white people alone. The question of these laws can be debated and has been for a long time.

This does not negate the fact that there are not serious problems in South Africa. However, we do not address serious socio-political and economic problems by peddling a lie, especially to a foreign government whose global narratives and actions are morally questionable.

The notion of the U.S. Refugee Admissions Program (USRAP) for white Afrikaners is to any thinking person absurd, especially at a time when one of the main objectives of the current U.S. administration appears to be deporting immigrants from that country. You have to ask yourself what is going on that immigrants, and sometimes people who have U.S. citizenship, are being hunted, harassed and deported from the U.S. and yet white Afrikaners can seek asylum on a false pretext. That in itself is a point of reflection. There are now reports that some are returning to South Africa because life in the U.S. was not what they expected.

Let me state unambiguously: I am not unsympathetic to the genuine plight of Afrikaner farmers and communities in South Africa who live with real fear, violence, and economic insecurity. Farm murders and attacks are a documented tragedy that has caused immense suffering. No one who has followed South Africa’s post-apartheid reality with honesty can deny that certain rural communities—particularly farmers—have been disproportionately affected by violent crime. I have never dismissed the lived pain of any victim of violence in South Africa, and I do not do so now. But that is the key, any victim of violence. Inasmuch as many white Afrikaners have been brutally attacked and are the victims of heinous crimes, so are many black, coloured and Indian South Africans victims. A high crime rate and a government that cannot competently address crime are common enemies.

Let me go further. Many white Afrikaners feel disenfranchised. Small farming towns have collapsed, infrastructure has decayed, roads in outlying areas are in some places non-existent, the public health system is in a terrible state, and one cannot rely on the police for protection.

It is obvious that we live in a time of massive decline, almost entirely brought on by a government that has proved incompetent and corrupt despite its own narrative. But many people of colour are experiencing the exact same hardships; for many, nothing has changed since the dawn of democracy, despite their hopes. Poverty, decay, failing public services and an insanely high crime rate affect all people in the country.

My strong disagreement is not with the fact that people, both of colour and white Afrikaners, suffer. I strongly disagree with the fake news that white minorities are being targeted and that the proposed “solution” is asking the U.S. to step in and “save us” through whatever means Roets and Trump’s Republicans think best.

I do not believe, for one minute, that the current Trump administration is the answer to South Africa’s problems. First, because the U.S.A will never be able to understand the complexity of the history and difficulties in South Africa and second, because it is not an honest or moral administration. A government that has repeatedly demonstrated contempt for the rule of law, democratic norms, basic human rights standards, and the dignity of the most vulnerable cannot credibly serve as the ethical or practical vehicle for delivering justice to Afrikaner families or to any other group, for that matter.

Humanitarian assistance and refugee policy must be grounded in consistent moral principles, not in selective political expediency or transactional foreign policy. I therefore cannot in conscience endorse or remain silent while some South African citizens are encouraged to place their hopes in a U.S. administration whose track record I regard as fundamentally at odds with the Gospel values of justice, truth, and the preferential option for the poor.

I was accused of “selective empathy”. This is not “selective empathy.” I have consistently called out lies and fake news. Let me state clearly: whether in Gaza and Palestine, in South African townships, or in Afrikaner communities, we must speak out when there is failure, injustice and suffering. This is precisely because the Christian life demands that we promote “faith that does justice” for all, without partisan filtering.

When I have challenged certain public narratives about South African farm attacks, it has been on the basis of available evidence and a refusal to allow any single community’s suffering to be weaponised for political agendas. That is not, in my mind, dismissal; it is discernment. The same principle applies to my critique of the instrumentalisation of refugee policy under the present U.S. administration.

My frustration with Roets and his followers, who insist on creating a false narrative and causing further division in an already fractured, vulnerable country, was not intended to humiliate vulnerable individuals, nor to interfere with the legitimate diplomatic work of the U.S. Embassy. They were a public expression of my opposition to untruth and moral concern: that South Africans and the rest of the world should not be led to believe a false narrative about the country created by the likes of Roets for political expediency. Roets is playing a racist game, the very thing he accuses the South African government of doing. Why can people of his ilk not use their energy to fight the plight of all who suffer, with people of all colours, who find the burden of infrastructure failure because of incompetence and corruption, and crime a daily fear and suffering?

I also believe that the Trump administration will never magically resolve the problems of this country – in fact, their interference will make them worse (one need look no further than the current events in the Middle East to see how the U.S. and Israel’s actions are making the whole world a much more dangerous place). South Africa’s future must be built by South Africans, under a moral framework that respects the dignity of every citizen—black, white, coloured, and Indian—rather than outsourced to a foreign power whose values I cannot endorse. Until we agree that we must find a way of working together in this country, we will never have the future that all imagine for their children and future generations.

I remain fully committed to my own Jesuit charism of a “faith that does justice” and to the universal scope of that justice. I believe that the Gospel should be our guide, and so, when things are not in alignment with the Gospel, I believe we have to speak out – in season and out of season. Even if that means challenging people like Ernst Roets on X.

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The account of Lazarus (John 11:1-45) is one of the most powerful narratives Christians have of hope piercing despair. First-century Judea was under siege, a land occupied by the Romans. There was religious tension and violence simmering just beneath the surface of that society.

Not much seems to have changed: missiles streak across the skies of the Middle East, bringing death to innocents and destroying infrastructure. Families are torn apart as they bury children in rubble-strewn streets from the Mediterranean to the Persian Gulf. The machinery of modern warfare kills ruthlessly and efficiently from afar by rockets and drones. It is dangerously like a “computer game”. The insanity of death-dealing power feels absolute. Death seems to be the victor. It is final, irreversible, triumphant – and some rejoice in their ability to kill in cold blood; they feel triumphant.

Yet, the story of Lazarus refuses to let death be the final, irreversible, triumphant verdict. For the Gospel of John, even the stench of the grave, the stench of collapsing buildings, burning bodies and oil, cannot stop God; it is not the final word.

The life of Lazarus of Bethany is not a distant story, a myth. He is present now, amongst us. When he falls ill, his sisters, Mary and Martha, call Jesus. Jesus’ response shocks us – he delays. When he does arrive, Lazarus has been dead for four days. I wonder where God is as the Middle East burns, as children die in their hundreds and mothers, like the mourners in Bethany, wail in pain. But I notice that Jesus weeps when he sees the pain of Lazarus’ death. He, in that moment, carries the weight of divine solidarity with human grief. Then, in his own time, he calls Lazarus out. The smelly, dead man walks. Graveclothes unravel. The glimmer of life where decay reigned.

What Jesus did is not secret; word spreads, and it is the topic of conversation in the region! Many believe in Jesus because of what he has done for the Samaritan Woman, the Blind Man and now Lazarus. But notice too: these very moments of liberation accelerate the machinery of death against him. The religious and civil authorities, the guardians of their own death-dealing order, all chatter, I hear them agree: “If he goes on like this, we will lose our influence, our power, our ability to manipulate the people, hide our own sins, and the Romans will come to replace us and take our nation”. The freedom that Jesus gives to Lazarus, the new life, provokes a conspiracy of death.

The parallels between that day in Bethany and our times are sobering. Every school bombed, every hospital shelled, every infant murdered, every negotiation abandoned, every ceasefire shattered, every oil refinery ablaze, every gas work burning, is like another stone rolled across another tomb. Death-dealing power – whether wielded by the military power of states, militant groups, or proxies, or by the economics of geopolitics – operates with the same cold calculus as the religious and civil authorities at the time of Jesus. It calculates that preserving “order” or “keeping us safe” requires more death. It assumes that destruction and death, “obliterating”, are the triumph.

Lazarus dismantles that assumption. Lazarus reveals that God, in Jesus, who delayed (the tyranny of human timing!), is not absent but strategic; the God who weeps is not powerless but compassionate; the God who shouts into the tomb is not defeated but sovereign over the very forces that proudly manufacture death.

Are we being naïve, escapist? I do not think so because we are not denying the horror or promising “panado” quick fixes. Lazarus still died; Jesus still went to the cross and suffered. Our hope is cruciform—shaped by suffering, not spared from it.

The story of Lazarus invites us to wail like Martha, to weep like Jesus, and then to trust that the same voice that called Lazarus can still speak life into dead spaces. It is that same voice that can speak sanity into madness, soften hard hearts, reinvigorate abandoned peace talks, and raise up ordinary people, like doctors in hospitals, men and women in soup kitchens for the displaced, mothers shielding children, diplomats risking careers – all to call forth life from death. It is the voice that speaks to us: do what you can, wherever you are, to be on the side of life. Be on the side of life.

However, the narrative also offers an eerie, uncomfortable warning: the new life Jesus gives Lazarus does not end the cycle of violence; it intensifies the plot against him. The insecure use the forces of evil to bring death and, in so doing, cover their morally and spiritually dead lives. The Life-Giver became the target of these death-dealing forces.

Our hope does not magically disarm bloodthirsty warmongers, empires or militias. Our hope is that it delegitimises their claim to finality. It delegitimises their claim that destruction, or “obliterating”, or death is the triumph. Death-dealing powers thrive on the lie that they are the guardians of history.

Lazarus exposes the lie. The tomb is empty, not because death lost a battle, but because its claimed sovereignty is always an illusion.

As we watch the Middle East, our whole world in fact, with aching helplessness, Lazarus is – and must be – our stubborn insistence: we place our hope in life. A voice still calls names from the darkness or death to life. Life is stronger than the machinery built to crush it and the people who choose to use it. Lazarus is, perhaps, our only sane response to the insanity we witness.

A controversy recently took place between two private schools in Johannesburg, Roedean School and King David High School, Linksfield, when Roedean learners boycotted a tennis match against King David. From media reports, Roedean did not explain clearly why they did not want to play; they gave mealy-mouthed excuses. The principal of Roedean clumsily tried to explain to the principal of King David why Roedean wanted to boycott the game. The conversation was recorded, presumably without the Roedean principal’s knowledge (an ethical question in itself), and leaked to the media. Roedean was, as a result, accused of antisemitism, and as a result, Roedean’s principal resigned. The incident ignited uproar and fierce debate. One of the first to protest was Chief Rabbi Warren Goldstein, calling it an “antisemitism scandal” and seeking to justify the label by appealing to a partisan account of history. Goldstein has not once condemned the suffering of Palestinians.

We must, however, acknowledge that there are many unanswered questions about the incident before labelling it “antisemitic”. One important question is: did the Roedean learners indicate that their boycott was because they disliked Jews or because of King David’s unfailing support for the Israeli genocide in Gaza? In the leaked telephone transcription, the Principal of Roedean explains how, last year, learners from that school were uncomfortable with the armed guards at the gate of King David and the posters around the school of Israeli hostages. King David does not in any way claim to be neutral when it comes to Israel’s actions in Gaza; in fact, it is reported to explicitly support the Israeli Defence Force (IDF) in its curriculum.

In the dark years of apartheid, sports boycotts, locally and internationally, were intrinsic to the anti-apartheid movement. This was seen as a moral imperative, and anyone who played international sport against South Africa was a global pariah. South Africa was excluded from international sports for decades because of the system that dehumanised millions of black people.

It has become easy to conflate distinct issues for political expedience; politicians do this daily. Conflating Jewish people and the modern Israeli state is an all too easy category error and a sign of intellectual laziness. In fact, it was “South African Jews for a Free Palestine” who issued a letter of solidarity with Roedean. Jewish people amongst themselves do not all agree with the actions of Israel in Palestine. A protest against genocide is not antisemitism. It is political expediency for the Israeli authorities (and their supporters in South Africa) to shout “antisemitism” as a cover-up for genocide. We should call them out.

Words are powerful; they evoke strong feelings and shape how we act and react. Labelling someone (or a group) can have deadly effects – we have seen this in the holocaust and, in our own times, Rwanda. We should not use words because they are politically expedient. The use of the word “antisemitic” – or “racist” for that matter – cannot be a cover to perpetuate morally reprehensible actions.

We should always be on our guard for and condemn antisemitism. We know all too well what depraved actions resulted from this reprehensible ideology. Equally, we must also condemn genocide. Under the guise of one, it is possible for the other to flourish.