Pope Francis: A Pontificate From The Global South And For The Margins Of The World – OpEd

Pope Francis, who passed away on Monday at the age of 88, leaves behind a pontificate unlike any other in the modern history of the Catholic Church. His twelve-year tenure as Bishop of Rome was marked by a striking departure from the doctrinal and geopolitical postures of his predecessors.

The first pope from Latin America and the first Jesuit to hold the papal office, Jorge Mario Bergoglio brought with him not only a new pastoral style, but also a global vision forged in the barrios of Buenos Aires and shaped by the theological currents and political fractures of the Global South. In this, his pontificate emerged as a moral counterweight to a fractured and unequal world order, advancing theological innovations, reimagining diplomacy, and placing the peripheries at the centre of Catholic concern.

A Pope from the Margins

Francis’s election in 2013 followed the unprecedented resignation of Pope Benedict XVI and occurred at a moment when the Church appeared adrift, wracked by scandal and increasingly alienated from a rapidly secularizing West. From his first days, Francis signalled a break with Vatican grandeur, adopting simpler vestments, shunning the papal palace, and calling for a “Church that is poor and for the poor.” His early visit to Lampedusa, where he mourned the deaths of migrants drowned in the Mediterranean and denounced the “globalization of indifference,” set the tone for a pontificate shaped by the cries of the excluded (NPR).

As Craig Considine has observed, Francis reoriented the Church’s centre of gravity, expanding its pastoral and political attention to Africa, Asia, and Latin America. These regions, long considered missionary territories, now became interlocutors in global debates on justice, ecology, and peace. Francis did not speak to the Global South, but from it.

Theological Reframing

At the heart of Francis’s theological vision was a radical insistence on human dignity. He described modern capitalism as a “new tyranny” and denounced the “throwaway culture” that cast aside the elderly, the unborn, the disabled, and the poor. His 2013 apostolic exhortation Evangelii Gaudium warned that “an economy of exclusion and inequality … kills.” The following year, speaking to the European Parliament, he excoriated Europe’s loss of moral vision, likening the continent to a “barren grandmother.”  

Francis redefined the moral vocabulary of the papacy by shifting emphasis from sexual ethics to social and economic justice. In Laudato Si’, he offered a sweeping theological reflection on ecology, drawing inspiration from the Orthodox Patriarch Bartholomew and even citing a 16th-century Sufi mystic, Ali al-Khawas—an unprecedented gesture in Catholic magisterial documents.   

This openness reflected a wider theological posture: a belief that truth is not the monopoly of the Church, but found in dialogue, encounter, and shared suffering. In Fratelli Tutti (2020), inspired by his friendship with Grand Imam Ahmed Al-Tayyeb, Francis called for a universal fraternity that transcends religious and national boundaries. “God has created all human beings equal in rights, duties and dignity,”  the encyclical declares—an assertion of moral universalism grounded in lived interfaith relationships.

Interfaith Dialogues and Religious Diplomacy

If John Paul II’s global stature was shaped by his Cold War confrontation with communism, and Benedict XVI’s papacy by theological rigor, Francis’s legacy lies in his role as a spiritual diplomat of interreligious reconciliation. His visit to the United Arab Emirates in 2019—the first by a pope to the Arabian Peninsula—culminated in the signing of the Document on Human Fraternity, a milestone in Catholic-Muslim relations. 

He extended this outreach with meaningful gestures: praying at Istanbul’s Blue Mosque, embracing Grand Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani in Iraq, and maintaining a lifelong friendship with Rabbi Abraham Skorka, with whom he co-authored On Heaven and Earth. His ecumenical diplomacy was not driven by theological compromise, but by his conviction that “the other could be you.” As he stated, “It is not fair to identify Islam with violence. It’s not fair and it’s not true”  

This approach was not without criticism. His comments during the Israel-Hamas war were seen by some as equivocating on Hamas’s terrorism and Israel’s right to defend itself. His statement to President Herzog that Israel must not “respond to terror with terror” sparked backlash among Jewish leaders. Yet, Francis was unwavering in his call to protect human life, stating that “the first important thing is to save people.” He described the crisis in Gaza as “dramatic and deplorable,” while also urging the release of hostages and calling for humanitarian access. 

A Diplomatic Imagination: War, Peace, and Realism

Francis’s diplomatic style was shaped by his formation as a Jesuit and his deep immersion in Latin American social thought. Eschewing grand strategies or military alliances, his diplomacy functioned through moral persuasion and pastoral presence. It was less about securing geopolitical victories and more about affirming the dignity of the wounded. This preference for dialogue—even when unpopular—shaped his approach to the Ukraine war. In 2024, he caused international controversy by urging Ukraine to consider the “courage of the white flag,” meaning negotiation rather than prolonged bloodshed. His comments, delivered before President Erdoğan’s renewed mediation initiative, were widely misunderstood as surrender but were in fact a reiteration of his belief that war is the “shameful failure of politics.”  

On the war’s third anniversary, despite hospitalization for pneumonia, Francis called the conflict “a painful and shameful occasion for all of humanity,” invoking solidarity not only with Ukraine but also with victims in Sudan, Myanmar, the Middle East, and Kivu.

His relationship with Russia was critical. He met with President Putin and Russian Patriarch Kirill and attempted a mediating posture between Kyiv and Moscow—one that drew scorn from both sides when he acknowledged the Vatican’s “secret dialogues” with the parties. Ukrainian Catholics felt betrayed, especially when the Pope used language echoing Russian framing of the conflict as “fratricidal violence.” Yet even here, his response—calling for a special collection for Ukraine—was deeply pastoral.

Francis’s diplomacy may have lacked geopolitical bite, but it carried spiritual resonance. His method resembled that of a confessor listening rather than a negotiator dictating terms. He was not immune to criticism, but his stance flowed from an unwavering theological principle: that no war is just if it forsakes human life and dignity.

Pope Francis’s views on Donald Trump and his policies were cautious but often sharply critical, especially on matters concerning migration, economic justice, and environmental responsibility. He did not name Trump frequently, but his critiques were unmistakably aimed at the former U.S. president’s rhetoric and policies.

One of the most pointed moments came in 2016 when, during the U.S. presidential campaign, Francis remarked that “a person who thinks only about building walls, wherever they may be, and not building bridges, is not Christian.” The comment was a direct response to Trump’s plan to build a wall along the U.S.-Mexico border. Trump, in turn, accused the Pope of being a political pawn of the Mexican government, prompting an unusually direct war of words between the Vatican and a U.S. presidential candidate.

Francis’s disapproval extended to Trump’s nationalism, rejection of climate accords, and harsh immigration policies. He repeatedly warned that “populism is not the solution” and decried policies that prioritize national interests at the expense of the vulnerable. His encyclical Fratelli Tutti (2020) implicitly critiqued leaders like Trump by rejecting “myopic, extremist, resentful and aggressive nationalism,” and emphasizing instead the ideals of fraternity and multilateral cooperation.

The Francis Legacy

Pope Francis leaves a legacy that defies the conventional grammar of Vatican statecraft. His papacy may not have resolved doctrinal disputes or consolidated ecclesiastical authority. But it succeeded in something arguably more vital: restoring the moral voice of the Church on a global stage marked by fragmentation and fear. He was not a pope of empires, but of encounters; not a sovereign enthroned, but a shepherd walking with the wounded.

In one of his last public appeals, delivered just days before his death, he called Gaza “a dramatic and deplorable” crisis and urged both Israelis and Palestinians to “call a ceasefire, release the hostages and come to the aid of a starving people that aspires to a future of peace.” That phrase— “a future of peace”—captures the heart of Francis’s pontificate. It was never about consolidating power, but sowing hope in barren places, about looking outward from the margins of the world and hearing, in the groans of the forgotten, the voice of God.