Respect for the dignity of the person, whatever condition of disadvantage they face, is a strategic starting point—anthropological, ethical, one that shapes society, the whole social fabric, the way we imagine a city. A politics that builds the common good from fragility, weakness, and vulnerability must recognize this respect for human dignity as non-negotiable. Physical disability speaks loudly to this dimension. Consider what it means to remove architectural barriers in public and private buildings. This concerns not only disabled people, but the whole community. Addressing these problems improves the quality of life in a city.
Yet often, when we face these questions, there is a persistent pull to push fragility away, to confine it to institutions. A pervasive culture of institutionalization surrounds us, especially where the challenge of returning the marginalized to the center grows hardest. I think of the suffering of the elderly—a phenomenon we should address by bringing it back into the community, by calling on local neighborhoods to take responsibility for the common good.
Real de-institutionalization will succeed only if we sustain local communities—starting with families and the support of those close to them—so that a culture of participation can grow, one capable of building real responses for those who suffer, of shared responsibility.
This reflection carries a cultural, spiritual, and formative dimension that for us believers is profoundly important. In every person rests the dignity of being a child of the same Father. We see in this a powerful call toward reconciliation and the rebuilding of relationships despite everything. This holds too for those caught in other forms of institutionalization. I think of prisons, where we can see the possibility of an approach that is not merely punitive, but attentive to the victim who suffered a crime that has torn at the social fabric. Precisely because of this tear, recovery must not be reduced to detached goodwill. To show solidarity with victims and express the whole community's closeness, an educational force must emerge—one capable of meeting the offender in a relationship of repair.
The same holds for the great question of immigration. Our country would face a dramatic crisis without immigrants entering our economy, our relational systems, our demographic life—as the presence in our schools makes clear. But more than that, they carry a cultural dimension able to meet our own culture, which is often closed, regimented.
This is our challenge, and for me it has an ethical dimension. We must start from the weak, from those we have called the last, from their relationships of fragility, from all those horizons where we must appeal to society to take up their stories. We must inject ethical and social energy for the common good within society; this would bring collective wellbeing, cultural coherence, transparent bonds. It would make everyone better.
This also deepens our sense of limitation, fundamental in a diverse society, breaking through corporate selfishness and individual closedness that cannot answer the complexities a modern society poses.
We must not overlook the gaze and the power to humanize that come from those with lived experience—from those who work with disabled people, who bring such attention to their labor, who do not want separate schools but want all welcomed in a dimension of normalcy. That normalcy is not made by those who exclude others. It is made by people who face all challenges because they feel they belong to humanity, using terms dense with anthropological weight. I believe this is where education must begin, where those who shape structures and institutions must be formed. At the center must be the person, not the service; the relationship, not the answer—for relationships often awaken the need for change, including cultural change.
Our experience at Casa della Carità, where we welcome countless situations—with the difficult work of receiving those who arrive "shattered" by devastating paths—has shown us real outcomes precisely because no person can be turned away or abandoned. I think of the elderly, those who suffer psychologically, those cases where if we only built nursing homes and institutions that constantly push suffering away and institutionalize distress, we would face a very poor society.
Don Virginio Colmegna, 2011
President of Casa della Carità Foundation
Casa della Carità
Founded in Milan in 2002 on the initiative of Cardinal Martini, it is overseen by the mayor and the archbishop of the city. Its principal work is to welcome and care for people in difficulty and, through daily operations, to pursue research and dialogue that gather thoughts, experiences, and intervention practices.
Each day 150 people—men and women, Italian and foreign, young and old—are welcomed and engaged in their social reintegration, their search for work and housing. The house provides hospitality for single mothers with children and for those suffering psychological distress, a listening center, medical and psychiatric clinics, and a legal advocacy office.
