There are times when a specific event forces us to look at a much broader reality. What happened in Ceuta at the end of July and beginning of August is one of them. The massive influx of tens of thousands of people from Morocco, the overwhelming of the city’s reception capacity, and the numerous lives lost while trying to cross the border constitute a tragedy that cannot be reduced to a matter of territorial control. Ceuta confronts us with a much deeper reality: the human, political, and moral dimension of migration in our time.

What happened at that Spanish border is not an isolated phenomenon. It is a particularly dramatic expression of a human movement that spans the globe. Millions of people are displaced today within their own countries or cross international borders in search of safety, work, freedom, or a dignified life. In many cases, however, we are no longer dealing with migration understood solely as a personal decision to improve economic conditions. We are dealing with people fleeing wars, persecution, violence, political crises, extreme poverty, or situations in which remaining has become a threat to their own lives and those of their families. The latest UNHCR global report estimates that more than 120 million people will be forcibly displaced by the end of 2025. This figure alone should be enough to understand that we are facing one of the greatest human challenges of our time.

The nature of the phenomenon has also become more complex. Current migrations are interwoven with family and social networks, technologies that allow information to be transmitted from one continent to another in a matter of minutes, human trafficking and smuggling organizations, and, in some cases, political actors capable of manipulating population movements. Migration routes are no longer simply the paths traveled individually; they are part of transnational networks that connect countries of origin, transit, and destination. This does not mean that all mass migration is necessarily an organized operation, nor that we should attribute responsibility for what happens to a particular government without evidence. Rather, it means that the contemporary migratory phenomenon demands a broader interpretation than that of the simple individual who decides to leave in search of better opportunities.

The debate on migration and human rights has resurfaced in the face of a responsibility that no state can shirk. Nations have the right to protect their borders, establish the conditions for entry and stay within their territory, and guarantee the security of their citizens. Sovereignty is not incompatible with human dignity. Every society has the right to establish rules and demand their enforcement. It also has the right to combat criminal organizations that traffic in people and exploit their desperation. But another fundamental question arises: how to legitimately exercise this power without allowing individuals to disappear behind borders.

This, in my view, is the point where the Christian perspective has something essential to contribute to the contemporary debate. For the Church, human dignity is not a concession from the State, nor does it depend on a person’s administrative status. The declaration Dignitas Infinita reminds us that every person possesses a dignity grounded in their very being and that, therefore, their fundamental rights must be respected in all circumstances. Referring specifically to migrants, the document warns that they may be treated in practice as if they were less important or less human, even if no one openly declares it. Precisely for this reason, it insists that every migrant, by virtue of being a person, possesses fundamental and inalienable rights.

This statement has concrete political consequences. A person may not have the legal right to remain in a country and yet retain their dignity intact. It may be necessary for a state to order their return, and at the same time, that state is obligated to ensure that the procedure is carried out respecting their rights. It may be legitimate to prevent irregular entry and, simultaneously, morally unacceptable to resort to unnecessary violence, humiliation, or any form of degrading treatment. The legality of a decision and the dignity of the person subject to it are not contradictory realities: precisely because a law exists, it must be applied justly.

This is particularly important when we talk about return. Sometimes, the migration debate ends the moment a person is returned to their country of origin, as if the state’s moral responsibility ended with their departure from its territory. From a Christian perspective, this cannot be the case. Return can legitimately be part of an orderly migration policy, but a person does not cease to be a person during the transfer or upon crossing their country’s border again. Dignity has no administrative abode. Those who return must also be treated with respect, safety, and humanity, in accordance with international law and the particular circumstances of their situation.

The Church’s social doctrine does not propose a naive elimination of borders either. In Fratelli tutti, Pope Francis expressly recognizes the need to create conditions in countries of origin that allow for a dignified life and integral development, so that migration is not an obligation imposed by necessity. And, until those conditions exist, he proposes four attitudes toward migrants that should guide our response: welcoming, protecting, promoting, and integrating. It is not simply a matter of opening doors indiscriminately, but of embarking on a path that allows us to reconcile the identity and security of communities with the dignity of those who arrive.

Return, in fact, should occupy a much more prominent place in our reflection. We often speak of expulsions and deportations from the perspective of the state: who can stay and who must leave. But we should also ask ourselves what happens to the person who returns. Under what conditions do they return? What happens to their children? What risks do they face? What guarantees do they have? The obligation to respect human dignity does not end when a person leaves our territory. The border cannot become the point where our moral responsibility disappears.

This issue takes on a special dimension when we look at the United States and the reality of the Latin American presence. Millions of Latin Americans have built their lives there, raised families, and contributed profoundly to the country’s economic, cultural, and social development. At the same time, the United States faces the legitimate challenge of controlling a border under enormous migratory pressure and develops detention and deportation policies that generate intense debate. This is not about turning this issue into a partisan dispute. What is happening in the United States raises the same question we must ask ourselves in the rest of the world: how can a state effectively exercise its authority without turning migrants into a different kind of human being?

The Christian response cannot ignore the existence of trafficking networks. These organizations must be firmly combated because they turn human vulnerability into a business. But we must also ask ourselves why they find such fertile ground. When a person in need of protection or in an extreme situation cannot find legal and safe routes to travel, they become far more vulnerable to those who control clandestine routes. Combating human trafficking therefore requires prosecuting those who profit from suffering, but also working to reduce the conditions that make this market possible.

There is also a specifically Christian reason for looking at the foreigner differently. The Gospel presents the other not simply as someone whose rights we must respect, but as someone whose life concerns us. The Good Samaritan doesn’t begin by asking who the injured man is or where he comes from. He sees a person in need and approaches him. And for Christians, there is an even deeper memory: the Holy Family themselves experienced fleeing their homeland and seeking refuge in Egypt. The migrant is therefore not a reality completely foreign to our faith. In the face of the one who flees, the Christian is called to recognize a human face that challenges their own responsibility.

This does not mean idealizing migration or ignoring the difficulties it can generate. Nor does it mean denying the right of states to establish borders. It means something more demanding: not allowing the legitimate defense of a border to make us lose the capacity to recognize the human being who stands before it.

Perhaps one of the greatest dangers of our time is precisely the dehumanization that begins with the numbers. The terms we use are technical, numerical. We speak of flows, waves, arrivals, contingents, returns, and deportations. These categories are necessary to govern and analyze the phenomenon, but they are insufficient to understand it. Behind each number is a face, a story, a family, and often, profound suffering. We can legitimately discuss different migration policies; what we shouldn’t discuss is whether the person in front of us deserves to be treated as a person.

That is why we need to overcome a false dichotomy. We do not have to choose between security and humanity, between sovereignty and fraternity, between borders and solidarity. The real challenge lies in building policies capable of reconciling these realities. States need secure borders and orderly migration policies. We need effective procedures, international cooperation, a fight against criminal networks, and return mechanisms where appropriate. But we also need legal and safe pathways, protection for those entitled to it, and, above all, a political culture that does not turn migrants into enemies.

The question we must ask ourselves is not only how many people can enter or how many must return. We must also ask ourselves what principles we want to govern our decisions when these people arrive at our borders. As Christians, we cannot respond by forgetting human dignity, fraternity, and the common good.

Protecting borders is legitimate. Enforcing the law is necessary. The security of societies must be guaranteed. But none of these responsibilities requires abandoning humanity.

Perhaps that is our most urgent task: to build a migration policy that is firm without being cruel, orderly without being dehumanizing, and sovereign without forgetting fraternity. A border must protect a territory, but it should never become the place where we suspend the recognition of the dignity of those on the other side.

Because, in the end, before being a migrant, a foreigner, an asylum seeker, a deportee, or a citizen, there is a person. And for those who view the world through the lens of faith in Christ, that person is not someone we must deal with or burden, but someone whose dignity calls to us, whose life compels us to serve them. The mission has always been this: to see Christ in people and treat them with the respect they deserve.

Mario J. Paredes, President of the International Academy of Catholic Leaders