She emphasized that being brothers and sisters cannot be reduced to a slogan; it requires a living commitment to justice, freedom, and the dignity of every human being. Her intervention turned a clear gaze toward the wars and suffering that scar our time — from Palestine to Ukraine and Yemen.

In the face of violence and oppression, fraternity demands that we break the silence   and stand with the victims. It also calls for restoring international law to its true purpose: protecting peoples and the most vulnerable, rather than serving as a tool for those who commit crimes or justify atrocities. For Karman, human dignity is equally rooted in the fight against poverty, universal access to education, and the defense of the environment.

Fraternity thus becomes a responsibility — towards others and future generations. Drawing on the experience of her own country, Karman reaffirmed her rejection of tyranny and of war as a response to tyranny. To be truly human means choosing peace over domination, and justice over indifference. Her message is a clear appeal to transform fraternity from an ideal principle into concrete action for a genuinely shared humanity.

Excerpt from the speech by Tawakkol Karman – Yemeni politician and activist, Nobel Peace Prize laureate

Speaking of human fraternity means, first of all, speaking of what it means to be human. And this is essential, because from this understanding may arise the solutions to the problems of our world. Fraternity — the brotherhood and sisterhood of all people — cannot be reduced to a beautiful slogan. It is a living commitment to justice, freedom, and human dignity.

Today we are gathered here while thousands of people in Gaza face genocide. The tragedy unfolding in Palestine is one of the gravest humanitarian catastrophes of our time. Tens of thousands of martyrs — men, women, and children — have lost their lives. Entire cities lie in ruins. Hospitals, universities, and churches have been destroyed while the world remains silent. If we truly wish to speak of humanity, we must break this silence — the silence surrounding the crimes and bloodshed in Palestine, Ukraine, Yemen, and Israel.

True human fraternity means standing beside all the oppressed. It means working to build justice and ensuring that international law becomes a shield for peoples, not a weapon in the hands of those who commit crimes and justify genocide.

True humanity is when we bridge the gap between rich and poor, when we fight poverty and guarantee education for every child, regardless of color or origin. It is when we unite to defend our planet, to stop the destruction of the environment and ecosystems, and to preserve creation for future generations.

It is when we reject domination over others and help peoples reclaim their freedom — freedom from foreign powers and from corporations that exploit resources, devastate lands, and spread corruption.

I come from a country that suffers under such oppression. My sister Shirin Ebadi, from Iran, and I oppose our government and the militias, the Iranian regime, and all those who bring war and injustice to our people. But we also refuse to answer tyranny with war. To be truly human means choosing peace instead of domination, justice instead of silence, fraternity instead of indifference. No invasion. No war. No tyranny. No poverty. No destruction of our shared humanity.

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In his address at the World Meeting on Human Fraternity, Satyarthi traces the deepest meaning of fraternity precisely to this ability to dream. The stories of the Pakistani girl who sews soccer balls and dreams only of being able to play soccer, or of the young Syrian refugee who wants to become an engineer so he can return to rebuild his home and his country, show how hope can survive even under the most dire circumstances. But above all, they show that fraternity cannot remain an abstract concept: it begins when the suffering of others is recognized as something that concerns us.

For Satyarthi, in fact, all children are “our children,” regardless of nationality, political affiliation, or religion. It is from this awareness that his call to “globalize compassion” arises. Not compassion understood as pity or benevolence, but as a force capable of driving us to act. In the context of the Meeting, his message thus becomes an invitation to transform fraternity into concrete responsibility: in institutions, in politics, in civil society, in religions, and in daily life. Because being brothers and sisters means, first and foremost, never considering another’s pain as something foreign to us.

Excerpt from the speech by Kailash Satyarthi – Indian activist and Nobel Peace Prize laureate

A dream is light. A dream is the strength in your legs. A dream is the journey. A dream is the milestone, and a dream is the ultimate goal you reach.

I was once traveling in Pakistan, which is no easy feat for an Indian. But I have never believed in borders. There is only one humanity. Pakistani children are my children. Indian children are my children. As I sat there with a group of children, I noticed a girl. She was sewing soccer balls. Drops of blood would often trickle from her fingers, and she would lick them off and then go back to work, because she couldn’t let her blood stain the balls.

I asked her, “My daughter, if you were free, what dreams would you have?” She replied, “What is a dream?” I asked her again, “If a miracle suddenly happened and they asked you what you’d like to become?” After a pause, she answered, “I’d like to play soccer one day.”

I’ll share another story. I was visiting and working with some local organizations in Germany, at a Syrian refugee camp, together with my wife. I saw a boy in a wheelchair, about 10 or 11 years old, with a very intense gaze. I knew he had lost both his legs and his father in a bomb attack, and that his mother had gone missing somewhere along the way. I asked him, “Son, what do you want to do with your life once you finish your studies here in Germany?” Without even pausing for half a minute, he replied spontaneously: “I want to go back to my village in Syria and become an engineer, so I can rebuild my home and my country.” That was his dream.

There are millions of similar stories that can inspire us. They are proof that our dreams can lead us away from despair, hopelessness, and suffering toward a future of hope and happiness.

I represent the sound of silence. I represent the faces of invisibility. I represent the cry of innocence. Sitting here safe and comfortable, we must listen to those bombs, those bullets, and those drones that are killing innocent children in Gaza. All Israeli children are our children. All Palestinian children are our children. All Sudanese children are our children; all the children of the world are our children. This feeling will arise when we hear their suffering and act to end it as if it were our own. Therefore, compassion is the answer.

Compassion is not kindness, mercy, pity, charity, or benevolence. These are great human qualities. But compassion is a force, not just a feeling. Compassion is the force that arises from feeling the suffering of others as our own, which drives us to act consciously to end that suffering.

Carrying on as if nothing has happened won’t work. I have been a member of numerous high-level groups, including the United Nations SDG Advocates, appointed by the UN Secretary-General. And I keep saying the same thing: carrying on as if nothing has happened won’t work because it isn’t working.

Dear friends, we must ignite and globalize compassion.

We must build compassionate leadership in our own contexts—among young people, in hospitals, in the judiciary, in law enforcement, in civil society organizations, in governments, in intergovernmental agencies, in academia, and in religious institutions.

We should feel as though my children are about to be killed and that I must save them immediately. In this sacred place, in the presence of His Eminence Cardinal Mauro Gambetti and His Holiness Pope Leo XIV, right here nearby. If we don’t start here, where will we start?

I am not a preacher, nor a politician, nor a professor. I am one of you. So I ask you to make compassion a global priority. If you don’t do it, who will? If we don’t do it now, when will we? And if we don’t start here, where will we start?

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Download the brochure (in Italian).

 Visit the course page (in Italian).

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Excerpt from the remarks by Najwa Shihab – Journalist and founder of Narasi TV

Indonesia, the world’s third-largest democracy and the most populous Muslim-majority country, is home to 270 million people, whose ability to unite in diversity is extraordinary. It is a country where journalism is not something abstract, but an essential tool for maintaining a balance between differences and dialogue.

In 2004, I was still a young journalist and found myself in the midst of the devastation caused by the Aceh tsunami, which claimed hundreds of thousands of lives. I saw loss and destruction everywhere. Yet, amid that pain, I also saw small acts of courage: survivors finding hope in fragile stories, shared through impromptu broadcasts and gently passed from one person to another. At that moment, journalism ceased to be merely a matter of headlines and became a way to hold hands in the darkness. For two decades, I have listened to stories: some whispered in fear, others shouted during protests, all driven by the desire to be recognized and respected. These voices remind me that journalism is not just about facts—it is about people.

Today, however, this task is more difficult than ever. Digital platforms amplify anger, spread lies, and profit from divisions. Conspiracy theories poison families, disinformation corrupts elections, and hate speech inflames communities, while deepfakes blur the lines of reality and, little by little, erode our trust.

Yet I have also seen the opposite. In Indonesia, young people fact-check politicians’ statements in real time and take to the streets to demand transparency and accountability. Communities organize aid more quickly than governments do. Climate activists connect across borders at a speed no government can match. In Indonesia and around the world, citizens are reclaiming their power, using their voices not to divide, but to unite.

I believe this is the fundamental lesson: technology is not our master. What matters is how we choose to use words: not to divide, but to heal; not to hurt, but to mend; not to inflame, but to bring us closer together. We must protect independent media from political and commercial control and promote media literacy, so that citizens can resist disinformation. We must bring marginalized voices alongside those of leaders, safeguard the safety and freedom of journalists, and build new alliances with the tech sector and civil society, so that the spaces that once divided us can begin to serve our shared humanity. These are not idealistic hopes. They are urgent necessities for democracies under intense pressure and for communities torn apart by mistrust. And we must constantly remember those who today bear this burden in the most painful way.

In Gaza and throughout Palestine, journalists are no longer merely witnesses—they have become targets. They fall not by the sword, but with cameras and notebooks in their hands. Their courage reminds us why we are here. Words can be walls and shields, but they can also be bridges to the truth. They can destroy, but they can also defend dignity and humanity. To honor them is to honor the principle at the heart of this gathering.

As Pope Leo XIV reminds us: “Before being believers, we are called to be human beings. Before being anything else, we are called to be human beings.” We must remind the world that journalism, too, can be an act of love. There is no greater power than brotherhood.

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At the World Meeting on Human Fraternity, he drew a historical parallel: the impact of artificial intelligence today is comparable to that of the printing press in Aldo Manuzio’s time. It is a revolution that is redefining access to, production of, and dissemination of knowledge.
But there is one crucial difference. While traditional publishing has always had clear responsibilities, today much of the news circulates on platforms that do not identify themselves as publishers.
The question then becomes inevitable: who is responsible for the truth?

Gallagher openly criticized the major players in the digital sector for their reluctance to assume this role. Without shared responsibility, the risk is that information will be governed solely by considerations of traffic and visibility.

The work of the World Meeting on Human Fraternity points in a different direction: putting quality, responsibility, and human dignity back at the center as criteria for information as well.

Excerpt from a speech by Tony Gallagher, Editor of The Times

Aldo Manuzio made the great texts of antiquity widely accessible throughout Europe, thereby helping to shape the intellectual culture of the Renaissance.
Today we find ourselves in the early stages of another communications revolution, driven by powerful new technologies at the intersection of artificial intelligence, social media, and the Internet. Early signs indicate that the impact on society could be just as significant as that of the Renaissance—but so are the risks.
While words can disarm, creating a common ground of knowledge, they can also be turned into weapons through the spread of fake news designed to destabilize society.
Print technology was, in its time, also an asset to the creators of fake news: consider the 17th-century English Levellers, radical polemicists who spread unverified claims to undermine the legitimacy of Parliament, or the 18th-century French libelists, clandestine authors of scandal sheets who spread false accusations—such as those regarding Marie Antoinette’s alleged immorality.
Over time, however, the spread of the press was followed by regulation: laws were introduced to limit excesses, such as defamation laws. After World War II, it was precisely those publications that built their reputation on the accuracy of their information that came to dominate the media landscape.

In the United Kingdom, The Times is often referred to as the “newspaper of record.” Our team of editors and legal counsel works diligently every day to live up to this description, verifying the accuracy of every news story we publish.
When announcing the end of fact-checking, Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg spoke of a cultural turning point in favor of greater freedom of expression. But he also admitted that this decision would result in “more negative content” across the platform.

“More negative content” is not what we need.
Conspiracy theories and fake news thrive in environments where there are no limits on what we call freedom of speech.
Words that disarm, on the other hand, are words grounded in facts.
When a society can agree on fundamental facts, the chances of moving in a common direction—and, with it, peace—increase. But when facts are called into question by professional polemicists, politicians, or people who have something to hide, the result is social fragmentation: the exact opposite of disarmament.

Artificial intelligence adds a new dimension to this information revolution. Generative AI is still in its infancy, but it is already clear that, despite the billions of dollars invested in systems like ChatGPT and Gemini, it still has serious limitations when it comes to fact-checking.
In fact, recent research shows that instances of “hallucinations”—that is, fabricated information—have increased as the models have become more powerful.
Of course, this new information revolution—like that of the printing press in Manuzio’s time—has the potential to usher in an era of extraordinary opportunities, bringing about changes in nearly every sector.
We must embrace change and seize its possibilities, but we must also learn from history.
This means holding the new “superpowers” of information—the social media and artificial intelligence giants—accountable and imposing rules on them that benefit society as a whole, not just a narrow elite of shareholders.

We need figures like Mark Zuckerberg, Elon Musk, and TikTok founder Zhang Yiming to embrace Pope Francis’s vision: a world where words matter and societies thrive through reflection, calm, and an awareness of complexity.
I suspect that, in the decades to come, readers will rely more than ever on news organizations like The Times—and many others represented in this room—that are built on the work of human beings, not bots, and driven by a deep commitment to telling the truth to the world.

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Dima Khatib, CEO of AJ+, shared a firsthand account at the World Meeting on Human Fraternity. Her network has been one of the leading sources of news in the Arab world for years and has often operated in extremely high-risk environments.

During the Meeting, she read the final words of Anas Sharif, a journalist killed in Gaza. This gesture shifted the discussion from analysis to responsibility. It was one of the most moving and heartfelt moments of the entire event.

The point is simple: killing a journalist is not a collateral effect, but a way to eliminate witnesses.

The condemnation also addressed the international silence that still surrounds these incidents. When the death of a reporter elicits no reaction, it creates a space where violence can run rampant.

In this sense, the issue of journalism is once again deeply linked to that of brotherhood. Because recognizing the other as a brother also means recognizing their right to their voice, their story, and their truth.

Excerpt from the remarks by Dima Khatib – CEO of AJ+

I am a Palestinian journalist, and today I am a very angry journalist.

Because our solidarity has been shattered. For nearly two years, the Palestinian people have been facing genocide at the hands of Israel. Their stories, their lives, are being erased and often distorted by much of the mainstream media. Palestinian journalists are being hunted down. Two hundred forty-nine have already been killed—an all-time record in the history of journalism. Ten of them were Al Jazeera journalists, killed to silence the truth they were reporting.

These are their faces, and those who are still alive are surviving amid hunger, destruction, and fear.

What is happening in the State of Palestine is not an accident of war: it is a deliberate act, taking place before the eyes of the entire world, broadcast live on our phones. During our roundtable discussion, two words resonated repeatedly: truth and dignity. We also spoke about verification and fact-checking. Yet many choose when to uphold these values and when to ignore them. When Israel labels Palestinian journalists “terrorists,” many fail to verify, fail to check the facts, and fail to defend the dignity of those journalists. Thus, they end up repeating the propaganda that justifies genocide, using the language of neutrality and supposed objectivity. But silence, complicity, and dehumanization are the links in the chain of killing. And yet, humanity has not disappeared. History teaches us that coexistence is possible, as was the case in Al-Andalus, where a single culture embraced three religions: Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. That coexistence was based on three pillars: peace, knowledge, and love.

And yes, love is essential. Because hatred is what leads to dehumanization; hatred is the root of racism, division, and misinformation. On social media, we see Palestinian journalists telling their own stories. They face dehumanization with dignity. And people amplify their voices, mobilize, and take action. This is brotherhood, solidarity, and hope.

Practicing journalism with a human face means protecting humanity, not destroying it. It means serving the public, not those in power. It means standing with the truth, not with propaganda.

St. Augustine said, “Let us live well, and the times will be good.”

Because we are the times. We shape how humanity will be remembered. We are part of the moral horizon of our era. And yet, today it’s Gaza… who will be next? If we allow this massacre to go unpunished, there will be another Gaza.

This week alone, 26 journalists were massacred. Did you hear the news? I doubt it.

Because we’ve normalized the killing of journalists, and when twenty-six of them die in one fell swoop, it’s no longer news. But humanity needs journalists. And journalists need solidarity—from their colleagues, from institutions, from each and every one of us—to stay alive and continue reporting, regardless of ethnicity, skin color, name, religion, or origin. They must be protected as human beings with dignity, not merely remembered in letters written after their deaths.

Because humanity has failed. Time is up—not just for me, but for all of us. Time is up for humanity.

I am an angry mother. An angry Palestinian. An angry journalist.

When I see fellow journalists, mothers, Palestinians—killed alongside their children—I cannot remain silent. I want to read you a few lines written by Maryam Abu Dagga, an Al Jazeera journalist killed in a targeted bombing in Gaza. She wrote them to her son Reet, whose name means “rain”:

“I want you to pray for me.

I don’t want you to cry for me—that will make me happy.

I want you to make me proud, to study hard,

to be strong, and to become a well-rounded man.

I want you to never forget me, my son.

I did everything so that you could be happy and safe.

When you grow up, get married, and have a daughter,

name her after me—Maryam.

You are my love and my heart, my support and my soul.

You fill me with pride,

and knowing that you are a good man fills me with joy.

I ask you to pray,

pray and never stop praying, my son.”

The post Storytelling under attack appeared first on Fondazione Fratelli tutti.

At the World Meeting on Human Fraternity, she used a stark expression: “Information Armageddon.”
According to her analysis, the problem is not just the spread of fake news, but an economic and technological system that rewards polarization. Attention becomes profit, and conflict becomes a product.

The result is that the truth does not disappear: it is progressively weakened, rendered irrelevant.
His proposal starts here. Rebuilding an information ecosystem based on three elements: collaboration among media outlets, a return to the public service mission, and the development of technologies that give users back control over their own data.

The World Meeting on Human Fraternity showed just how widespread this analysis is: the information crisis is one of the areas where the quality of democratic life and the very possibility of recognizing ourselves as a community are at stake today.

Excerpt from the speech by Maria Ressa – Nobel Peace Prize laureate

The greatest battle we face today is the fight against impunity, because it leads to dehumanization.
We live in a physical world ravaged by war, and in a virtual world where our minds and emotions are insidiously manipulated by surveillance capitalism.
All of this has spawned violence, and online violence is real violence, on a global scale.
Last year, 274 journalists were killed.
We are facing three crucial battles: the battle for truth, the battle for human autonomy, and the battle for our future.
The first is the battle for truth.
When deepfakes can destroy reputations, when micro-targeting and disinformation campaigns can manipulate elections, when lies travel faster than facts, we must act. Platform accountability is not censorship: it is safety. It is the restoration of democracy’s immune system.
The second is the battle for human agency.
Algorithms that amplify our worst impulses, that reward outrage over empathy, that lock us into the bubbles of our biases, are not inevitable. They are choices. We can choose different values. We can design with human dignity as our starting point.
The third is the battle for the future we want.
Will artificial intelligence enhance human potential or replace human judgment?
Will the internet serve humanity, or will humanity serve the internet?
We cannot tackle these challenges alone—newsroom by newsroom, country by country. The internet and disinformation know no borders. Neither can our response. That is why we must radically rethink what collaboration means. I have seen what happens when we fail. I have watched democracy die in real time, one viral lie after another. In the Philippines, the Duterte administration filed eleven criminal cases against me in fourteen months. Nearly ten years later, I still cannot travel freely: I needed permission from the Supreme Court to be here today.
But I have also seen what is possible when we act with courage and conviction.
There are three paths to restoring the integrity of information and rebuilding trust.
The first: journalism.
We must return to our fundamental mission: serving the public interest. Today, this requires extraordinary courage: providing context when algorithms reward controversy, choosing fact-checking over virality. We must stop feeding the platforms that are destroying us and build our own communities of trust.
The second: community.
At Rappler, we’ve learned that survival depends on communities of action.
When Duterte attacked us, our community funded our defense. When algorithms tried to silence us, our community amplified the truth. We must build networks of trustworthy journalism organizations—federated systems that connect real people in a shared reality.
The third: technology.
We have developed technologies for the public good: an open-source, decentralized chat app based on Matrix that allows real people to communicate without algorithmic manipulation. This must be the future of information: technology in the service of human connection. We can choose different values. We can design with human dignity as our starting point. I urge you to reflect on the meaning of radical collaboration in these times and to join us.
Pope Leo — and before him Pope Francis — have asked us to be human.
That is why we became journalists: to help people understand the world and one another… today, to rebuild what technology has systematically destroyed.
We know what “creative destruction” means: we stand on the ruins of the world that once was. Now is the time, for all of us here, to create the world we want.
The future is not written in code. It is written by the choices we all make, together.
Before it’s too late.

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In an era marked by artificial intelligence, the crisis of democracies, and the weakening of social bonds, the book serves as a compass to navigate the challenges of the present. At the heart of the reflection are the five fundamental principles of the Church’s social doctrine—the dignity of the person, the common good, subsidiarity, solidarity, and the universal destination of goods—presented not as abstract concepts, but as concrete criteria for political, economic, and social action.

According to the authors, today more than ever—in an era of major technological and cultural transformations—there is a need to rebuild what is authentically human. Hence the idea of rediscovering a heritage of thought that continues to offer valuable tools for interpreting reality and promoting a more just and inclusive society.
The book weaves together theoretical reflection and historical accounts, recounting the stories of figures who embodied these principles in public life. From Václav Havel to Nelson Mandela, from Tina Anselmi to Luigi Sturzo, and on to Adriano Olivetti, their experiences show how values and responsibilities can translate into choices capable of having a concrete impact on history.

The “hidden thread” evoked by the title is precisely the bond that unites ideas, behaviors, and institutions. A thread that is often invisible, yet decisive in building more cohesive communities oriented toward the common good. For Occhetta and Maggi, universities, businesses, public administrations, the third sector, and ecclesial entities are called today to walk together, sharing responsibility and vision, to generate policies, reforms, and lifestyles that place the dignity of the person at the center.

Particular attention is given to the teachings of Pope Leo XIV and his first encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas, which serves as one of the central focal points of the volume. “At the heart of Pope Leo XIV’s social thought lies a unified vision of humanity, which affirms that dignity is inseparable from freedom, while freedom finds its fulfillment in the common good. Only by maintaining this harmony is it possible to reopen a horizon of hope in which individuals and peoples can recognize themselves as protagonists of a shared history,” the authors write.

Francesco Occhetta, a Jesuit, journalist, and secretary general of the Vatican’s Fratelli tutti Foundation, and Davide Maggi, full professor of Economics and lecturer in the Social Doctrine of the Church, thus offer a contribution that transcends the boundaries of the ecclesial sphere to address anyone interested in understanding the challenges of the present and imagining new forms of civil coexistence.

The Hidden Thread serves as a call to personal and collective commitment, based on the belief that the great transformations of our time can only be addressed by placing the individual and their dignity at the center once again.

The book, written in Italian, is available on Amazon and IBS Libri.

The post “The Hidden Thread,” the new book by Father Francesco Occhetta and Davide Maggi: five principles for a more humane world appeared first on Fondazione Fratelli tutti.

THE ROOTS OF DEMOCRACY
The Principles of the Constitution in the Debate Between Jesuits and Catholic Constituent Assembly Members

In Italian: LE RADICI DELLA DEMOCRAZIA
I princìpi della Costituzione nel dibattito tra gesuiti e costituenti cattolici

which reconstructs the debate on the fundamental principles of the new democracy: the person, work, solidarity, equality, autonomy, religious freedom, and peace.
At the center emerges a guiding value: the dignity of the human person, the foundation and limit of all political power.

Through archival sources, including unpublished ones, the book highlights the role of Catholic culture, the contribution of the constitutional drafts requested by Pius XII, the thought of Maritain, the mediation of the “first” Dossetti, and the work of Father Giacomo Martegani.

Today, in an era marked by new democratic crises, this volume reminds us that the Constitution is not merely a political guideline, but a fundamental guarantee: it inspires decisions, sets limits on power, and safeguards coexistence.

For understanding the roots of democracy also means defending its future.

Here we publish the foreword by President Oscar Luigi Scalfaro, which was one of his last writings.

It’s true. Any discussion on matters pertaining to the Italian Constitution interests me and, in a certain sense, moves me and stirs my emotions.

I was 27 years old when I was elected to the Constituent Assembly, where we were witnessing a moment of immense historical significance: a long and painful period of political stagnation was coming to an end for our country, for our people—of whom I, too, have the great honor to be a part.

I have been asked many times if I was aware that I was participating in an exceptional historical event that marked the bloody end of the fascist dictatorship.

Our condemnation of the dictatorship took root during our high school years. The comparison with true democracies was starkly negative for an authoritarian regime: no right to vote for citizens, and thus no participation in the political life of the community; no possibility of choosing between different political forces; and no presence of a free and influential labor union.

This condemnation of the dictatorship grew stronger within me when I heard it asserted—by the dictatorship’s own doctrine—that the human person cannot be the holder of fundamental rights because only the State is their owner. The individual, already so severely humiliated, was literally crushed by this aberrant theory in the face of the overbearing, masterful State, which can grant or revoke these rights whenever and however it sees fit, even partially or for a limited time. I was a law student at the Catholic University, whose rector was the Franciscan scientist Agostino Gemelli.

A splendid report by La Pira to the Preparatory Commission, even if intended for another purpose, remains, in my view, a document of exceptional clarity and legal rigor.

If I examine myself carefully, I believe I lived through that time in the essential pursuit of truth and justice.

The principles of freedom and democracy were presented to us young people through the voices and experiences of those who had suffered under dictatorship and had already paid the price for the values we were about to enshrine in our Constitution.

Freedom and democracy are values that require great humility to live out in truth, accepting that we can never say we have reached the final destination: every day we can take a new step to make them relevant and lived by all.

At 92, I feel the weight and the joy of this journey, made up so often of small victories and also of great disappointments. Among my experiences was the 2006 constitutional reform, carried out by a simple majority of the center-right government and involving genuine attacks on the fundamental principles of law. What remained particularly painful for me was the proposal that the Head of the Executive be granted the power to dissolve Parliament, effectively dismissing the legislative branch: a true madness of unconstitutionality.

Yet none of those who supported these aberrant arguments have acknowledged the error or changed their minds.

Hence my conviction that even today our Constitution remains vulnerable to further attacks, which become all too easy when amendments—even those that are essential, and on some of which there is already significant consensus—are not pursued solely in the interest of the Italian people.

The Constitution is not untouchable, and I say this in my capacity as President of the Association for the Defense of the Constitution.

What matters is that every amendment be approved by Parliament with broad support from the opposition and that it always and above all serve the interests and benefit of the Italian people.

My reflections stem from having read, reread, and pondered Occhetta’s study. His desire to delve into the minds of the most committed and dedicated members of the Constituent Assembly is evident. One senses the author’s passion for trying to capture the spirit of the Constituent Assembly members—tormented seekers, yet so honest in their quest to find essential common ground. All these elected parliamentarians lived with intensity the “no” to dictatorship and the determined will for freedom and democracy.

The collective “no” to dictatorship is certainly a starting point, but it needs some equally shared “yeses” to pave the way for renewal. The work of the Constituent Assembly was undoubtedly focused on this essential quest.

The very debate over Article 1—“Republic of Workers” or “Republic founded on work”—clearly expressed this compelling commitment to fundamental inquiry. And the left’s willingness to abandon its preferred formula, “Republic of Workers,” demonstrated—and this was certainly not the only instance—just how deeply everyone felt this essential and passionately held point was valued.

Thus, the Human Person entered through the front door of the Constitution, and entered triumphantly.

I will never be able to convey the thoughts, the feelings, the deep emotion of this achievement, which seemed to me the realization of a great dream.

The Person, so mistreated by the inherently anti-human dictatorship, reduced to a thing without rights and without dignity, enters and takes center stage in our Constitution, which was created above all to serve the Person, for their dignity, for their rights, and for their duties.

In Occhetta’s work, this profound understanding of the minds and hearts of the Constituent Assembly members comes across as vivid and fruitful. I also find parallels between our approach to debate and what Occhetta wrote.

We Christian Democrats never entered the chamber to address an issue without first having studied, examined, and discussed it in party meetings. Thus, we were familiar with the objections, differences, and motivations of the other political forces. During the debate in the chamber, we experienced with great emotion the shaping of the legislation, which had by then become a shared political will. Here, Dossetti’s clear and precise words conveyed to us the process that had been completed and the point of arrival. Thrilling.

I will recount an episode I will never forget.

During a political debate on events unfolding at the time, a far less noble clash erupted in the chamber—one of brute force and heavy aggression. The session was suspended by the wisdom of the President, Terracini, and the assembly resumed a few hours later. I was mortified at the thought of the damage caused by disrupting the work that had just been done. Instead, when the session resumed, I saw, to my great surprise, the parliamentarians who had attacked one another writing the text of the article under consideration together. Wonder and emotion. This was the spirit that dominated the Assembly right up to the very last article.

The contribution of the Church’s thought, experience, and life was immense. We were also familiar with the careful and prudent work carried out by Father Martegani of Civiltà Cattolica, and we had spoken and debated many times with Father Messineo, certainly an authoritative figure on the political right, a learned man whose positions were always clear and well-reasoned.

Yes, dear Father Occhetta, for Catholics and for a large segment of the Constituent Assembly, democracy was never a dry acceptance of a method or a procedure, but rather an expression of deep convictions, and above all, life, sentiment, and a genuine human witness to a way of thinking, being, and acting.

Hence the joy of finding, in the final text, so many messages, so many living and active signs of Christian thought. Yet there was never any claim to primacy on the part of the Catholic world. Never.

The Constitution was born out of a fruitful convergence of different worlds, philosophies, and traditions, but it was created for everyone without distinction, and everyone was meant to feel represented by that document written by Italians for Italians—for every Italian. Thus, the “inviolable rights,” equality before the law, religious peace, and the defense of every religion respectful of the Constitution gained clarity and strength.

Thus, the “no” to war, which Italy repudiates, becomes the clear fruit of the triumph of the human person and their fundamental commitment to bring collaboration, sharing, solidarity, fraternity, and peace to everyone, always. Thank you, Fr. Occhetta: I have enjoyed your study and your research, which are so close to my own experience, rich in lessons and timeless ethical values.

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It is against this backdrop that Paolo Ruffini’s remarks take shape.

A journalist and former director of Rai3 and Tv2000, Ruffini has served as Prefect of the Dicastery for Communication of the Holy See since 2018: the first layperson to lead it. His work has focused on the integration of Vatican media and on a continuous reflection on the relationship between information and responsibility.

At the Meeting, he proposed a precise formula: “unarmed communication.” Not neutral communication, but communication freed from what makes it violent—prejudices, partisan loyalties, and ideological rigidity. The critical point, he observed, is the digital environment in which public opinion is formed today. Algorithms tend to confirm what we already think, creating closed spaces where opinions never truly meet. The consequence is a fragmentation of reality that makes finding common ground increasingly difficult.

This is why Ruffini speaks of the need to “repair the networks”: to train professionals capable of restoring complexity and reconciling truth with responsibility.
At stake is not only the quality of information, but the very possibility of coexistence.

Excerpt from the remarks by Paolo Ruffini – Prefect of the Dicastery for Communication of the Holy See

The Weight of Words

This gathering of ours demonstrates the central role of information in shaping what our future will be. The Dicastery for Communication of the Holy See, which I have the honor of leading, has for years been reflecting on the need to broaden the scope of our attention regarding the frontier that the media are called to safeguard. It may seem out of place, in a meeting whose theme is disarming and unarmed communication, to speak of a frontier.

Yet this is precisely the point: the boundary—in our case—between good journalism and bad journalism, between idle chatter and analysis, between the patient search for truth and the hasty dissemination of spoiled news. Between a communication system founded on the sharing of truth and a system founded on indifference to truth. Between the clash of opinions and campaigns of hate, defamation, and murderous attacks. Between the defense of one’s own identity and the denial of others’.

Thus—especially when considering the meaning of the word “disarmed”—it is worth reflecting on the very root of the word “weapon.” To free it from what Pope Francis has called the “paradigm of war.” For the word “arm” derives from the Latin arma, which had more than one meaning and also referred to peaceful instruments and tools.

The Proto-Indo-European root ar- has an even broader meaning: it means to adapt and also to unite. We find evidence of this in idioms that have come down to us: to arm oneself with courage, patience, goodwill, intelligence, and truth.

Each of these tells us—implicitly—what we must disarm ourselves of and what we must arm ourselves with.

Disarmament is not synonymous with surrender. Pope Francis has stated that communication must be disarmed of all prejudice, resentment, aggression, fanaticism, and hatred; freed from the intoxication of deceptive simplifications; and from the paradigm of the will to dominate, possess, and manipulate.

Pope Leo XIV echoed these words, saying: “Let us disarm words, and we will help to disarm the Earth.” If we are here today, it is to contribute together to a reflection on the real possibility of this disarmament in the increasingly asymmetrical competition that characterizes the communication system. Algorithms capable only of computation risk becoming the guardians of our thoughts, trapping us in so-called “filter bubbles”—unwitting prisoners of an artificial world shaped by our fleeting, momentary preferences.

A world without true freedom, where no opinion is formed to be debated or even changed, but only to be confirmed, in an endless game of mirrors with no beginning or end. A world that seeks to change us from within, along with the rules of civil coexistence and the economy.

Dominant business models have shifted the focus from quality to speed, from informative content to attention-grabbing content: sensationalist headlines, clickbait, scandals. But if true and false take on the same appearance, what principles govern the business of algorithms?

What criteria govern the indexing and de-indexing policies of search engines capable of elevating or erasing people and opinions, stories and cultures?

The latest Reuters Digital News Reports show us that people are shifting their attention toward what they believe deserves it. And since the news is no longer trustworthy, they are instead seeking educational, inspiring content that rekindles hope.

Herein lies the challenge: to resist the erosion and corruption of communication; to restore substance to the news and a sense of hope to every narrative. For this reason, I hope that this meeting will be followed by others. The Dicastery for Communication is deeply committed to fostering and promoting, in the appropriate forums, a free, elevated, serious, concrete, and sustained dialogue on all these matters.

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