History has unfolded in Rome with the election of Pope Leo XIV, the first American-born pontiff and a man forged in the fires of pastoral service in the rural hills of Peru. There, he lived among the poor — not as a benefactor, but as a brother. He spent over two decades walking with indigenous communities, learning their language, celebrating their culture, and standing up for their dignity. His ministry wasn’t shaped in corridors of privilege, but in dusty roads, broken homes and shared pain.
In many ways, this legacy is a continuation of Pope Francis, who dared the Church to move from being an institution of rituals to a field hospital of healing. Pope Francis didn’t just speak about the poor — he repositioned them at the very heart of the Church. His vision was uncomfortable for many because it required not charity, but change; not pity, but proximity.
With Pope Leo XIV now assuming that same mantle, the global Church has been offered a second moment of reckoning. But what does this mean for us in Goa, a land deeply interwoven with the Catholic faith and its institutions? More importantly, will we simply watch from afar and applaud this election — or will we reflect deeply on how much we have drifted from that same Gospel call to be with the vulnerable, the forgotten, the displaced?
Poverty in Goa is no longer about hunger — It’s about exclusion
In Goa, poverty wears new masks. It is no longer just about hunger or torn clothes. It is about being left out of systems, conversations, and protection. The migrant worker who built our walls and washed our dishes but is now labelled a “nuisance.” The woman in the unorganized sector cleaning our homes, raising our children, but with no maternity benefits, no identity papers, and no respect. The disabled youth who is still treated as a burden, whose access ends where the stairs begin. The tribal child born without documentation, therefore born without a future.
And then there is the rising number of urban poor — living in slums in Mapusa, Margao, Vasco, and beyond — whose children face abuse online and offline, whose youth fall into cycles of addiction and delinquency, and whose lives are invisibilized under the glamour of Goa’s tourism narrative.
This is not just socioeconomic marginalization. It is systemic erasure.
Xenophobia is the new face of respectability
What’s most disturbing is the growing normalisation of xenophobic sentiments in Goa — sometimes subtle, sometimes loud, but always dangerous. Migrants are increasingly being “othered” — painted as threats to culture, economy, and safety. Their access to welfare is questioned. Their right to dignity is denied. Politicians, parties, and even respected community figures speak of them as burdens, not as fellow human beings.
And the Church, which once stood as a sanctuary for all, now finds itself at a crossroads: Will it remain neutral in the face of hate? Or will it rise once more to say, “Blessed are the strangers, for they too are children of God”?
Our social programmes have become checklists — and that is dangerous
This exclusion is not just a matter of neglect. It is the outcome of a deeper crisis: the collapse of sincerity in our social responses. Many of Goa’s social welfare programmes — be they from the state or civil society — have increasingly become tokenistic, bureaucratic, and boxed into rubrics. We’ve confused documenting with doing. Workshops are held, photos are taken, reports are written — but the lives of the most vulnerable remain unchanged.
Parish outreach efforts are often limited to distribution drives during Lent or Christmas. NGO reports speak of “reaching the marginalised” — but few have walked the narrow lanes where real pain lives. Even some shelter homes have become spaces where children are institutionalised not because they need care, but because they help institutions survive.
This hollowing out of purpose — where form has replaced substance — is deeply dangerous. Because when systems lose their soul, injustice becomes institutionalized.
The Call of Pope Leo XIV Must Be Realized
Pope Leo XIV’s election is not just a ceremonial moment for Catholics — it is a prophetic call for anyone who still believes in human dignity. His life testifies to accompaniment, to listening, to undoing systems that exclude. He reminds us that the Church — and by extension, society — is not meant to serve the status quo but to disturb it, especially when the comfortable forget t`he suffering.
For Goa, this means looking in the mirror. Are our Parishes inclusive spaces, or are they built for the already-integrated? Are our welfare schemes reaching the child without a birth certificate, the woman without a ration card, the youth without a roof? Are we designing programmes that involve the vulnerable, or merely ticking boxes in the name of social justice?
This also means building bridges, not walls — between locals and migrants, between the literate and the excluded, between those with voices and those with none. Goa has always been a land of hospitality, of coexistence. But that legacy is being fractured by narratives of fear and entitlement.
Let us remember: the poor are not asking for pity. The vulnerable are not waiting for leftover kindness. They are demanding visibility, equity, and justice. And they are watching — to see whether our faith, our governance, and our institutions will finally walk their talk.
The papacy of Leo XIV begins with the memory of Peru’s poor. Let Goa begin again by remembering its own.
(Peter F. Borges is an Assistant Professor of Social Work at the D.D. Kosambi School of Social Sciences and Behavioural Studies, Goa University. He has served as the Hon'ble Chairperson of the Goa State Commission for Protection of Child Rights)