The speech that shook the Cortes
There are times when a papal pronouncement transcends the chamber in which it is delivered to reach entire continents. On June 8, 2026, beneath the gilded vaults of the Palacio de las Cortes in Madrid, Leo XIV delivered a speech greeted by nearly seven minutes of standing ovation—a record in a chamber accustomed to political clashes. But beyond the acclamations, beyond the debate on life, migration, or peace, the Pope slipped a reference into his address, the full significance of which many commentators underestimated: he invoked the question of Salamanca, the theologians Francisco de Vitoria and Bartolomé de Las Casas, and described them as founders of international law and defenders of the dignity of the peoples of the New World.
This reference is not a flattery aimed at Spanish historical pride. It is a theological and diplomatic act of rare depth, simultaneously addressing three distinct audiences: Spain, which is grappling with its ambiguous legacy from the Valladolid controversy; Latin America, whose indigenous peoples have awaited full ecclesiastical recognition for centuries; and the United States, where policies of forced assimilation in Catholic schools for Indigenous children are still the subject of investigations and demands for justice. Leo XIV, an Augustinian by training, shaped by years of missionary work in Latin America, knew exactly what he was saying—and to whom he was speaking.
The prophet Isaiah intones a song that Christian tradition has always interpreted as a universal promise: «"The islands listened, the distant peoples fell silent to hear."» (Is 49:1). It is perhaps in this planetary dimension of the Word that we best measure the scope of the papal gesture in Madrid: a word spoken in a European parliament that resonates as far as the reserves of Canada, as far as the Amazonian communities, as far as the plains of Dakota.
The School of Salamanca, an overlooked theological revolution
Vitoria: When faith gives birth to law
Francisco de Vitoria (c. 1486–1546) taught at the University of Salamanca at a time when the Spanish conquistadors were devastating Native American civilizations in the name of Christ and the Crown. An austere Dominican, trained in Paris in the Thomistic tradition, he could have remained silent like so many others. Instead, around 1539, he chose to deliver his famous Indis Elections, a series of academic conferences that will constitute the birth certificate of modern international law.
His approach was of considerable theological audacity. Where his contemporaries justified the conquest by the papal donation—the bulls of Alexander VI granting the Catholic Monarchs sovereignty over the discovered lands—Vitoria started from natural law, common to all humanity by the sole fact of reason. This reversal was decisive: by basing his argument not on ecclesiastical privilege but on the shared rationality of all humankind, Vitoria made the Native Americans subjects of law in their own right, legitimate owners of their lands and property, capable of political governance and self-determination.
The Francisco de Vitoria room in Geneva's Palais des Nations now bears his name—a discreet yet eloquent tribute from secular modernity to a 16th-century Catholic theologian. Vitoria asserted that nations have the right to govern themselves, regardless of their religion, beliefs, or origins. By invoking his name before the Cortes, Leo XIV did more than simply cite an illustrious ancestor: he revived an intellectual tradition in which Catholicism can still claim to be, not the pretext for domination, but the very foundation of universal dignity.
Las Casas: Theology as a prophetic cry
If Vitoria was the jurist, Bartolomé de Las Casas (1484-1566) was the prophet. A direct witness to the massacres perpetrated by the conquistadors, this former colonist, converted to the plight of the Indigenous people, would spend his entire life proclaiming the truth before royal courts, ecclesiastical audiences, and theological tribunals. It was he who obtained the papal bull from Pope Paul III in 1537. Sublimis Deus, which formally recognizes that Native Americans "possess the use of reason, are truly men" and condemns their enslavement.
The Valladolid Controversy (1550-1551), which pitted him against Dr. Juan Ginés de Sepúlveda, is often presented as a debate of ideas. It is much more than that: it is the first trial concerning human rights in Western history. Sepúlveda argued that the Indigenous peoples were "slaves by nature" in the Aristotelian sense, inferior to the Spanish and who had to be subjugated by force to allow for their evangelization. Las Casas replied that the Indigenous peoples were "human beings who have the same rights as Europeans" and that violence could never be a means of accessing the Gospel. Had not the Apostle Paul, in his letter to the Galatians, already established this foundational principle? «There is neither Jew nor Greek, neither slave nor free… for you are all one in Christ Jesus.» (Gal 3:28)? Las Casas was not inventing a new theology: he was drawing out, with immense courage, the political consequences that his contemporaries refused to hear.
The verdict of Valladolid was ambiguous—the Indians had souls, certainly, but colonial practice was hardly altered. Las Casas's prophecy, however, endured through the centuries. And it was this prophecy that Leo XIV quoted before the Spanish parliament five centuries later, in a land of stone and history.
An unpaid debt: the Church's relationship with indigenous peoples today
Of mea culpa to action: still a long way to go
Since his predecessor's penitential journey to Canada in July 2022—which he himself described as a "penitential pilgrimage" to Indigenous peoples—the Catholic Church has taken several significant steps. In March 2023, the Holy See formally repudiated the Doctrina Descubrimiento (Doctrine of Discovery), acknowledging that papal bulls of the 15th and 16th centuries had been manipulated by colonial powers to justify immoral acts against indigenous peoples. This joint declaration by two Roman dicasteries was a historic act: for the first time, Rome not only apologized for the behavior of certain missionaries, but explicitly invalidated the legal instrument that had allowed colonization to appear legitimate.
In Canada, the Church has established a $30 million Canadian reconciliation fund, supported by 73 dioceses and overseen by an Indigenous council, to finance the cultural and linguistic revitalization of communities. Between 1831 and 1996, approximately 150,000 Indigenous children were forcibly enrolled in these residential schools run by the Church under a mandate from the Canadian government; between 3,000 and 6,000 of them died there. These figures serve as a stark reminder that the legacy of colonization is not a theological abstraction but an open wound within living families.
In France, the issue remains largely ignored. In French Guiana, between 1930 and 2023—the year the last institution closed—thousands of Amerindian and Maroon children lived in state-supported Catholic homes, subjected to humiliating discipline, the prohibition of their mother tongue, and widespread colonial violence. A truth and reconciliation commission is under consideration, but French society, unlike Canadian or Australian society, has not yet engaged in this debate with the same intensity.
The legacy of Leo XIV and the Augustinian theology of justice
This is where Leo XIV's personal journey becomes truly significant. An Augustinian by profession, he was heir to a tradition that, from Saint Augustine to the great missionary figures of colonial America, had always oscillated between cultural accommodation and forced assimilation. But the Augustinian order also produced prophetic voices—and the Pope knew that tradition is not merely passed down as an inheritance to be embraced, but as a challenge to be met.
By summoning Las Casas and Vitoria before the Cortes, Leo XIV performed a gesture of theological reinterpretation: he proposed that Spain embrace not the ambiguous glory of the conquistadors, but the more demanding honor of its resistant theologians. He proposed to Latin America and its indigenous peoples that the Church is not only the institution that accompanied colonization, but also the one that, from the outset, carried within itself the seeds of its resistance. And for the United States, where investigations into former Catholic boarding schools continue, this discourse suggests that recognition must go far beyond superficial apologies to address the very structure of rights—rights that Vitoria had already established in the 16th century and that indigenous peoples still claim in contemporary courts.
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What Indigenous peoples are asking for today is not fundamentally different from what Las Casas asked for in 1550: to be recognized as subjects of law in their own right, with respect to their culture, language, spirituality, and governance. The major new element in the current context is that these peoples are speaking out themselves, directly, in international forums—at the UN, in synods, and in episcopal conferences. The Canadian Conference of Indigenous Bishops responded to the Madrid speech by emphasizing that the mention of Las Casas by a pope before a European parliament constitutes a «historic moment of recognition.».
Nevertheless, symbolic recognition, however valuable, cannot replace legal and political recognition. The Book of Ecclesiastes warns us that «"The words of the wise, heard in calm, are better than the shouts of a ruler among fools."» (Ecclesiastes 9:17) — which means that the quality of a speech is measured by its consequences, not by its applause. The seven-minute ovation in the Cortes was magnificent. The true response to Vitoria and Las Casas will be measured in the actions that follow: the opening of archives, the distribution of funds, the recognition of territorial rights, and the teaching of indigenous languages in Catholic schools in the Amazon and Guyana.
Leo XIV, as an Augustinian who knew the weight of earthly life, had no illusions about the slowness of history. But as an heir of Vitoria, he also knew that the truth once spoken cannot be taken back — and that a word spoken before a parliament, before cameras, before history, henceforth commits the entire Church, on every continent, to the honor of its own principles.
✝ Biblical references
3 passages · 3 books
Vanity of vanities, all is vanity. (Ecclesiastes 1:2)
A philosophical reflection on the meaning of life, work and time in the face of death.
→ Explore the Codex Ecclesiastes
It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. (Galatians 2:20)
Liberation from the Law through faith: against legalism, for life according to the Spirit.
→ Explore the Codex Galates
He has given us a child, a son has been given to us. (Isaiah 9:5)
The great prophet of salvation: judgment, consolation and announcement of the Suffering Servant.
→ Explore the Isaiah Codex- I will make you a light for the nations, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth (Isaiah 49:1-6)
- I have appointed you to be the covenant of the people, to restore the land (Isaiah 49:8-15)
- I will make you a light for the nations, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth (Isaiah 49:3, 5-6)
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🌍 5 countries involved
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With over 70 million members, the United States is home to one of the world's largest Catholic communities in absolute numbers, even though Catholics represent only 21% of the population. Evangelization began...
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