Even as she grew up in this southern Israel kibbutz, a green oasis bordered by flat desert, Irit Lahav says she felt a latent, lurking fear of imminent attack, one that even permeated her piano lessons.

That is because the tall chain-link fence – crested with coils of razor wire – that encircles this collective community where she was born is just 1 mile from the impoverished and densely packed Gaza Strip.

The coastal enclave is home to 2.3 million Palestinians – most of them descendants of refugees uprooted by the creation of Israel in 1948 – as well as militant groups that for decades have been determined to destroy the Jewish state.

War erupted Oct. 7, when militants from Hamas, which has ruled Gaza since 2006, and Palestinian Islamic Jihad stormed through the border and overran Nir Oz and a score of other nearby communities. The daylong rampage left 1,200 people dead and 240 taken to Gaza as hostages.

The incursion’s unprecedented toll changed Israel and unleashed a devastating response – a continuing Israeli military bombardment and ground invasion that has left 20,000 Gaza residents dead, mostly civilians.

Scott Peterson/Getty Images/The Christian Science Monitor

Israeli soldiers and reservists take portraits of the damage to a border kibbutz, while residents still grapple with the results of a deadly attack by militants two months earlier, in Nir Oz, Israel, Dec. 6, 2023.

And it realized a collection of previously unimaginable worst fears on both sides.

“When I was a child, I used to play piano ... in this house, actually,” says Ms. Lahav, who is in her 50s, pointing as she takes several visitors around the burnt ruins of the community, which was founded in 1955. Overhead is a constant buzz of Israeli drones, punctuated by the occasional whoosh of rockets, roar of jet fighters, and explosions in nearby Gaza.

“The only piano of the kibbutz was here. I used to go in the afternoons and practice,” she recalls of sessions in the 1970s. “I used to always think, ‘Now it’s getting dark. The terrorists will come from the window.’ And I used to imagine two terrorists coming from the window.”

For years she tried to confront those fears, telling herself, “This cannot happen.” But she would rush to finish piano practice anyway and get back to her parents’ house.

“In our worst nightmares, it would be two terrorists attacking,” says Ms. Lahav. “We could not even imagine anything like this.”

Scott Peterson/Getty Images/The Christian Science Monitor

The perimeter fence of Kibbutz Nir Oz faces the nearby Gaza Strip, in Nir Oz, Israel, Dec. 6, 2023.

Ms. Lahav’s harrowing personal story of the attack is a microcosm of the collective trauma, fear, and doubts that afflicted Israel on Oct. 7 and have since. It is a window, too, on what drives Israel’s relentless campaign to destroy Hamas in Gaza and on how the challenge of eventually forging peaceful coexistence has deepened.

She is still in shock at the scale of the slaughter and the systematic nature of the attack on Nir Oz, which was replicated up and down the border region. The militants were well trained, prepared, and found to have carried detailed maps that divided the kibbutz into sectors.

An initial Hamas target was the destruction of every car, so Nir Oz residents could not escape. Motorcycles were ready at front doors to spirit hostages to Gaza. Water was cut off, so fires could not be put out.

And after residents were killed or taken hostage, internal gas lines normally used for stoves were cut open to feed fires that burned houses to the ground. Beside the blackened ruins now stand conical piles of debris and ash that have been carefully sifted for human remains.

One resident was identified only by those remains.

Of the 417 people at Nir Oz during the attack, 46 were killed and 71 taken hostage. Today, a communal wall of mailboxes is marked with strips of colored tape: red for those murdered, black for those kidnapped, and blue for some of the 40 hostages so far released.

The glass entrance to the kibbutz dining hall is riddled with bullet holes. Inside, the recently renovated kitchen is blackened by fire, and carries the stench of bodies that remained there for days.

Scott Peterson/Getty Images/The Christian Science Monitor

The Nir Oz mailroom's letter boxes are marked with red tape if the kibbutz family members were murdered, black tape if kidnapped, and blue tape if released, in Nir Oz, Israel, Dec. 6, 2023.

Yet amid the sounds of war and smell of burning, birds sing and there are still signs that Nir Oz had a recognized botanical garden. Swings for children hang from trees, and the communal “infant house” – where Ms. Lahav slept every night with the other kibbutz children in her youth – remains intact.

“There used to be no trees around here,” she says of the forest that now surrounds her. “Can you imagine I used to be taller than the trees?”

But those memories for Ms. Lahav are now overshadowed by the shock of Oct. 7, which impacted the worldview of this jewelry-maker and self-proclaimed peace activist. In the past she had served as a volunteer driver for Palestinians from Gaza, taking them from the border to hospital appointments in Israel.

As she passes by each house, she describes what took place: a father shot in the thigh through a door, while he tried to hold it closed; a woman cleaning the infant house, found hiding in a closet, then shot and taken captive; children turned to orphans with a burst of gunfire.

And then there is her own story, which began when an alarm sounded that Saturday at 6:35 a.m. Ms. Lahav and her 22-year-old daughter, Lotus, raced barefoot in their pajamas to their safe room – which doubled as Ms. Lahav’s office.

Soon they heard gunfire “from every direction,” and the Nir Oz messaging group lit up about houses under attack, swarming armed militants, and killings. The key was to lock the door, but safe rooms and shelters here had no locks, because they were designed to protect from rockets and shrapnel, not intruders.

Scott Peterson/Getty Images/The Christian Science Monitor

Bullet holes scar the glass door to the kibbutz dining hall, in Nir Oz, Israel, Dec. 6, 2023.

“They were going door to door, shooting, shooting, shooting, grenades, shooting, grenades,” recalls Ms. Lahav. “So your heart is beating; your whole body is shaking. You know that you are going to die – we will die, if we cannot find a way to lock our door.”

Ms. Lahav frantically remembered an oar from her childhood, and used that, a vacuum cleaner hose, and a leather jewelry cord to lock the door.

“Then I started piling books, because we were hiding right in front of the door. ... Maybe it will slow down their bullets, and we would just be injured and not dead,” says Ms. Lahav. “The first books I grabbed were two huge books of ‘The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich,’ and jokingly I told my daughter, ‘I hope Hitler will save us this time.’

“We crawled under the table and hoped for good,” says Ms. Lahav, even as messages surged about killings, burnings, and pleas for help for a husband bleeding to death. All the while, there was the constant sound of rifle fire and rocket-propelled grenades flying by the house.

Finally, men with loud voices came through the front door, broke things in the house, and found the safe room door. They tried to open it, again and again.

“They were shouting and shouting, and banging it, and getting angry. And shouting again and we are so afraid,” recounts Ms. Lahav, her voice cracking. “We were holding hands, under the table. And my daughter says to me, ‘Mom, I love you. I appreciate everything you did for me.’ And I said to her how much I love her, and we’re just saying goodbye words to each other.”

The attackers moved to a neighbor’s house. Ms. Lahav, who says she was shaking uncontrollably, then reinforced the now-wiggly makeshift lock with silver jewelry wire, which kept the intruders at bay each of the next five times they returned and tried to breach the door.

Scott Peterson/Getty Images/The Christian Science Monitor

Houses and buildings remain burned as kibbutz residents still grapple with the destruction of Oct. 7, in Nir Oz, Israel, Dec. 6, 2023. Rebuilding is expected to take years.

Terrified but safe, nearly 12 hours after the attack began, they were rescued by an Israeli soldier speaking Hebrew who had been sent by a friend.

All the shoes had been stolen. Later, Ms. Lahav found that her water cup and rice cooker had also been looted. Televisions and microwaves had been piled up all along the kibbutz pathways to take back to Gaza.

One neighbor reported that Palestinian women and young people had spent hours in their living room, blithely watching Netflix.

“I look at things differently right now,” says Ms. Lahav. “I always thought there were a few bad extremists, and they control or force the rest of the population to be against us – but really, if it was [the majority’s] choice, they would be good.

“Given that they used all the [aid] money for [weapons], plus the fact there were teenagers, children, women, and civilians – hundreds, or actually thousands of them – I realized that this is the Palestinians as a nation who had attacked us,” says Ms. Lahav. “They hate us, and this has to change our way of negotiating.

“I still believe in peace – it’s better to make peace, not war,” she adds. “But the thought that ... we will destroy Hamas, and everything will be good, is a mistake. There has to be an agreement with the nation.”

Mary and Marwan, a Palestinian Christian couple living in the West Bank, will not be attending Christmas festivities in Bethlehem next week. Like their co-religionists, they will focus their attention on Gaza.

They are consumed by the situation of brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, uncles and aunts and cousins, all currently trapped at the Roman Catholic Church in Gaza City.

The mood across the occupied territories is grim. In place of the towering evergreen that traditionally adorns Manger Square at the entrance of the Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem residents have erected instead a monumental figure of the flight of Jesus and the Virgin Mary to Egypt, evoking the biblical escape from King Herod’s violence. 

“We are mourning; we can’t celebrate while witnessing the killing and burning of children in our homeland,” says Bethlehem Mayor Hanna Hanania, “so we have decided to cancel all Christmas celebrations this year.”

In the Ramallah apartment where Marwan and Mary live, the usual hymns and carols go unsung. Instead, solemn prayers echo as they pray that their relatives and the rest of Gaza are delivered from danger. Poor communications mean that it has been several days since they last heard from them.

“I’m out of words. I can’t find it in myself to celebrate,” says Marwan, a 54-year-old computer engineer and musician. He and his wife preferred not to use their full names out of fear for their family’s safety in Gaza.

Gone are their traditional Christmas tree and decorations. Small sculptures of the Virgin Mary and a few red ribbons are scattered on side tables in their living room, alongside plastic green wreaths. But there are no new clothes, no gifts, and no colorful wrapped candies, which Mary says are “tasteless this year.” 

She opens a photo album of the last Christmas she spent in Gaza years ago with a wistful gaze. The fear and helplessness, she says, is overwhelming.

“We are only turning to prayers; we pray for the war to end, for our people to be safe, to relive our glory days in Gaza, Ramallah, Jerusalem, and Bethlehem and all of Palestine,” she says.

Lucy Marks/Reuters

The Church of the Nativity compound is nearly empty in Bethlehem, in the Israeli-occupied West Bank, as war rages in Gaza, dampening Christmas festivities.

This Christmas season is one of particular uncertainty and anxiety for Palestinian Christians, especially in Gaza, where they number around 1,000.

Nearly all Gaza Christians are concentrated in Gaza City, the epicenter of Israel’s military offensive in northern Gaza, and have been holed up for over two months within the walls of the Greek Orthodox Church and the Roman Catholic Church for safety. Their relatives and fellow Christians across the West Bank remain anxious about their future, praying in somber church services for good news from Gaza.

Provisions are running low in the besieged Roman Catholic Church compound, and the plight intensifies as food, water, and medicine become scarce. 

Last Saturday, according to reports confirmed by the Roman Catholic Patriarchate, two women sheltering in the Gaza City Catholic compound were shot dead by an Israeli sniper.

This incident only added to Mary and Marwan’s fears.

“Most of my family members are musicians. We used to love this season, which was a chance to visit Bethlehem, visit friends and family for long nights of playing music and being together,” says Marwan. “This year, I’m only with the memories of my besieged loved ones.” 

Mary insists that their decision to abstain from festivities, like those of many Christians across the West Bank and Jerusalem, is not a renunciation of joy, but a testament to “seeking truth and justice in the most difficult war ever lived by Palestinians.” 

Scott Peterson/Getty Images/The Christian Science Monitor

Palestinian pedestrians walk by a Christmas shop display Dec. 7, 2023, in Ramallah, West Bank. This Christmas season is one of particular anxiety for Palestinian Christians across the occupied territories.

“I believe in the resilience of the human spirit in the face of adversity,” she says. “So through simple gestures and the sincerity of our prayers, we might find the miracle that allows us to celebrate their survival and leave the war a distant memory.”

“Christians in Gaza are an integral part of the Palestinian community; there is no difference” among Muslims and Christians, Mayor Hanania said in a phone interview, noting that Israeli bombs have hit mosques and church compounds alike. “We are united in pain. We are united under the occupation.” 

The Rev. Fadi Diab, rector of St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church in Ramallah, oversees Baptist churches in Palestine. Mr. Diab says his hope is that prayers this Christmas season will bring the war to an end.

“The once-revered sanctuaries, which stood as symbols of solace and communal strength, now bear the scars of conflict,” he says. “We pray they will return to being beacons of hope and peace.”

Armando Franca/AP

A close-up of a representative of DignityUSA, a group of LGBTQ+ Catholics who campaign for full equality, outside the Sao Vicente de Paulo Parish Social Center after Pope Francis visited in Lisbon, Portugal, Aug. 4, 2023.

When Pope Francis became the first person from the Americas to lead the Catholic Church a decade ago, he immediately began to emphasize the pastoral ministries of the church over what could be seen as a dogmatic insistence on the purity of its teachings.

That was the emphasis of his predecessor, Pope Benedict, a theologian and specialist in church doctrine. He believed the Catholic church must stand boldly against moral relativism or cultural change that might compromise the integrity of its immutable teachings.

So the newly elected Pope Francis immediately startled observers around the world in 2013 when he told a group of reporters, “If a person is gay and seeks God and has good will, who am I to judge?”

Since then, his papacy has been defined by an unprecedented effort to expand the reach of the church’s pastoral ministries, including, and perhaps especially, the divorced, gay and lesbian couples, and transgender people. 

This week, Francis again startled Catholics with what may be his boldest pronouncement yet to couples in “irregular situations” or of the same sex. In a declaration Monday, the Vatican for the first time said that priests were permitted to bestow a simple blessing upon such couples, in certain contexts.

Guglielmo Mangiapane/Reuters

Pope Francis leads the Angelus prayer from his window at the Vatican Dec. 17, 2023. This week, the Vatican for the first time said that priests can offer blessings to same-sex couples.

“For, those seeking a blessing should not be required to have prior moral perfection,” the declaration read.

The declaration “represents a monumental shift” in the Catholic church, says Darby DeJarnette, manager of operations and mission services at DignityUSA, a group that advocates for the full equality of LGBTQ+ Catholics. “A blessing conferred on a same-sex relationship is a step forward – perhaps a half step – but it will be a great comfort to same-sex couples who wish to receive some sort of recognition from their religious community.”

It is also something of a “mixed bag,” she says, given how much the Vatican emphasized what priests were not permitted to do during such blessings.

According to the declaration, a priest can never use an official church rite to convey a blessing on a same-sex couple. He cannot wear liturgical vestments or make the blessing ceremonial in any way. 

Furthermore, “this blessing should never be imparted in concurrence with the ceremonies of a civil union, and not even in connection with them,” the declaration said. Church dioceses, too, should never establish any pattern or create a particular blessing rite specifically for same-sex blessings. 

“For some LGBTQ Catholics, this is not going to be enough, and this is not an affirmation,” says Julie Byrne, professor of Catholic studies at Hofstra University. “But I was very surprised. It was a couple more steps further than what I expected the next step would be. I think it’s a surprisingly big step toward hospitality, toward welcoming and making LGBTQ Catholics, their families, and allies, more comfortable in church spaces.”

Martin Meissner/AP

Same-sex couples take part in a blessing ceremony in front of Cologne Cathedral in Germany, Sept. 20, 2023. Pope Francis formally approved allowing priests to bless same-sex couples, saying that people seeking God’s love and mercy shouldn’t be subject to “an exhaustive moral analysis” to receive it.

In many ways, the declaration simply clarified the church’s teachings about the meaning of priestly blessings, and the many contexts in which they occur. Apart from those conveyed in sacramental ministries, there are also spontaneous and less formal requests for a blessing, such as at shrines or even just on the street. Priests also bless new homes or other property quite often.

Priests convey blessings “so that human relationships may mature and grow in fidelity to the Gospel, that they may be freed from their imperfections and frailties, and that they may express themselves in the ever-increasing dimension of the divine love,” the Vatican said. 

Those who seek such blessings “do not claim a legitimation of their own status,” the declaration reads. Rather, they “beg that all that is true, good, and humanly valid in their lives and their relationships be enriched, healed, and elevated by the presence of the Holy Spirit.”

The declaration insisted that such blessings do not affirm or legitimize what the church has long considered sinful. Marriage is not only one of its seven sacraments, it is also a pillar of a Catholic understanding of God’s purposes in creation. Human beings, created by God as male and female, unite as one flesh for the purpose of reflecting God’s love and embracing its procreative potential.

Yet according to Catholic teaching it is not a sin to have a gay or lesbian sexual orientation. Unlike many Evangelical Protestants, Catholics do not consider homosexuality a defect. Homosexual activity, however, is considered “intrinsically disordered,” so gay and lesbian people must remain celibate. Any kind of sexual activity outside the specific confines of a holy marriage between a man and a woman is considered a sin.

“Even when a person’s relationship with God is clouded by sin, he can always ask for a blessing, stretching out his hand to God,” the document said. “Thus, when people ask for a blessing, an exhaustive moral analysis should not be placed as a precondition for conferring it.” 

Many conservatives reacted with alarm. “The Vatican’s statement is, in my view, the most unfortunate public announcement in decades,” said Ulrich Lehner, professor of theology at the University of Notre Dame, in an emailed statement. “Its imprecise language invites misunderstanding and will sow confusion. Moreover, some bishops will use it as a pretext to do what the document explicitly forbids, especially since the Vatican has not stopped them before. It is – and I hate to say it – an invitation to schism.”

Earlier this year, Catholic bishops in Germany voted to allow the blessing of same-sex couples. A number of priests in the city of Cologne blessed same-sex couples outside the Catholic cathedral as an act of defiance against their diocese’s conservative archbishop, who said it was impermissible.

Conservative bishops sent Francis a letter, asking him to clarify the Vatican’s position on a series of theological questions surrounding the issue. 

Francis responded that it could be permissible to bless same-sex couples – and this week’s declaration expanded on some of the points that have become the hallmark of his decadelong papacy.

“In our dealings with people, we must not lose pastoral charity, which should permeate all our decisions and attitudes,” he told the German bishops.

“The defense of objective truth is not the only expression of this charity; it also includes kindness, patience, understanding, tenderness, and encouragement,” he continued. “Therefore, we cannot become judges who only deny, reject, and exclude.”

Omar Havana/AP

European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen (left) speaks with European Parliament President Roberta Metsola. The EU has hardened its stance on immigrants.

The Eurovision contest, to tens of millions of Europeans and the far fewer Americans who are familiar with it, is an annual song competition – best known, perhaps, for having propelled a little-known Swedish pop group called ABBA to worldwide fame in the 1970s.

But a very different kind of Eurovision contest is now underway, with much higher stakes.

It is between two rival visions of Europe’s political future.

There have been growing signs in recent days that it’s intensifying, and that the prevailing political winds are pushing Europe decidedly rightward.

At issue in this new Eurovision contest is the resilience of the principles and priorities that have long underpinned the 27-nation European Union: cooperation and consensus; broadly centrist, democratic governance; social inclusivity; and a shared commitment to human rights and the rule of law.

That’s because an alternative vision has been attracting support for far-right politicians across a range of EU countries. This vision is more inward-looking, more assertively nationalist. And it prioritizes the importance of tough, no-nonsense government action over judicial checks or minority protections.

And a main battleground, in Europe just as in America, is immigration.

Until recently, the political contest seemed finely balanced, with everything to play for ahead of next June’s five-yearly continentwide elections to the European Parliament.

Yet a host of right-wing nationalist parties had been gaining strength, even securing a role in national government in traditionally social-democratic countries like Sweden and Finland, and emerging as the main opposition force in France’s national parliament.

Guglielmo Mangiapane/Reuters

Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni attends a political festival organised by her hard-right Brothers of Italy (Fratelli d'Italia) party in Rome Dec. 16, 2023.

In Italy, Giorgia Meloni, heading a party with fascist roots, had become prime minister.

Still, in Spain over the summer, the center-left prime minister survived an election challenge propelled by a far-right nationalist party, Vox.

And in mid-October, a coalition of Polish opposition parties led by Donald Tusk – a former European Council president pledging to restore an independent judiciary and protect minority rights – unexpectedly managed to unseat a well-entrenched, increasingly autocratic government.

Meanwhile, Europe’s shared recognition of the threat posed by Russian President Vladimir Putin’s invasion of Ukraine seemed to be providing a ballast of EU-wide unity, with even Ms. Meloni and far-right French leader Marine Le Pen firmly on board.

Now, however, there are signs that the mood is changing.

One major catalyst has been the shock result in last month’s parliamentary election in the Netherlands. Emerging as the single largest party, though still well short of a majority, was the Party for Freedom, led by Geert Wilders, a veteran far-right opponent of immigration who has in the past called for the closure of mosques and a ban on the Quran.

And there are signs of a political shift as well in two of the EU’s most important member states, Germany and France, where economic grievances and an overall lack of confidence in central government have bolstered support for the populist nationalism of far-right parties.

In a sign of the times last weekend, though national elections are several years away, a candidate backed by the far-right AFD party in Germany secured its first major mayoral victory, in a city outside Dresden.

In France on Tuesday, President Emmanuel Macron significantly toughened the provisions of a new immigration bill in order to get it through the National Assembly, where his center-left party no longer commands a majority. The rewrite included a tighter limit on state support for migrants, as well as new conditions for granting residents permits.

Stephanie Lecocq/Reuters

Marine Le Pen, president of the French far-right National Rally, has welcomed a new immigration bill as an "ideological victory" for her party.

Ms. Le Pen, who threw her National Rally party’s support behind the amended version, hailed the changes as an “ideological victory.”

On Wednesday, the EU announced a similarly toughened agreement on unionwide immigration policy, with a major emphasis on strengthening border controls and asylum procedures for migrants.

In a sign that the political Eurovision contest remains very much alive, however, there was vocal opposition to the toughened immigration policies.

It came from prominent members of Mr. Macron’s political party, other centrist and left-of-center politicians, and a range of European nongovernmental organizations, human rights groups, and legal groups all concerned with immigration.

The strategy behind the policy shifts in Paris and Brussels seem to be in line with an approach increasingly adopted in recent years by established center-right political parties around Europe: to tack rightward in the hope of boosting their appeal to far-right populists, whose numbers are growing.

One argument against such plans, however, is simply that they will not work.

Opponents point to recent electoral trends in northern Europe, where far-right, anti-immigrant parties had traditionally been on the irrelevant fringe, viewed by the mainstream conservative parties as beyond the political pale.

In moving to assume the far right’s immigration mantle, center-right parties have actually lost support, they say.

And if the recent Dutch election is any indication, when polling day comes around, many voters are indeed dubious about establishment parties that have recently adopted an overtly anti-immigrant stance.

If they are going to vote for an anti-immigrant party, those voters seem to have concluded, they might as well vote for the real thing, not a Johnny-come-lately imitation of the original.

Tucked away inside PortoM, a small performance center on the rugged southern coastline of Lampedusa, sits an exhibition of migrant relics that tell a tale of hope and despair.

The items range from life vests and lost boots to cookware and discarded toys, all once used by those journeying across the Mediterranean Sea to Europe. Giacomo Sferlazzo, PortoM’s founder and a passionate keeper of Sicilian cultural heritage, assembled and displays them to encourage visitors to reflect on migrants’ lack of safe, legal access to the European Union.

“Solutions to the migrant crisis do exist, but this is not in the EU’s political interests,” he says. “We should open regular channels for entry.”

Dubbed “Europe’s door,” Lampedusa is a secluded Italian island closer to Africa than to the European continent. This geographical peculiarity puts the tourist destination at the heart of a deadly migrant saga and a complex humanitarian crisis.

More than 150,000 migrants – about a sixth of them children – arrived in Italy by sea this year, mostly by way of Lampedusa. That marks a 60% increase from 2022. But islanders feel abandoned by European and Italian politicians, who have struggled to manage irregular migration effectively while maintaining humanitarian standards.

That has left Lampedusans themselves as both first responders and primary witnesses to this crisis. Their story, often overshadowed by the broader geopolitical drama, is an intimate narrative of resilience, hospitality, and inevitable weariness.

Alessandro Clemente

Giacomo Sferlazzo, activist and cultural promoter, stands in front of his collection of articles lost from migrants who tried to cross the world’s borders, Oct. 3, 2023, in Lampedusa, Italy.

A compassionate island

Many who have never set foot on Lampedusa imagine it as a place utterly overwhelmed due to its inability to manage thousands of arriving migrants.

Part of that is because of an Oct. 3, 2013, tragedy that killed more than 350 African migrants off Lampedusa’s shores, linking the island with one of the Mediterranean’s worst shipwrecks. And in 2015, Lampedusa became an EU “hot spot” reception center: a highly militarized facility designated for the identification, processing, and first-aid support of migrants. Upon arrival, individuals are categorized based on their needs and nationalities, which then determines their subsequent placement in various centers in mainland Italy.

And the hot spot gets a lot of use when the migrant influx intensifies in clement weather. It gets media attention too, such as in September, when thousands of migrants – more than the island’s population of 6,000 – arrived within just a few days, overwhelming the reception center and bringing nervous reminders of the 2013 tragedy.

For Italians on the mainland, the ongoing pressure has inspired a rightward political swing, which culminated in an anti-immigration coalition winning parliamentary elections in 2022. During her campaign, Giorgia Meloni promised to halt unauthorized immigration via a “naval blockade,” something she has reiterated many times since becoming prime minister, though she has yet to put it into action.

But despite Lampedusa’s connection to migration crises and tragedies, the presence of migrants goes largely unseen by tourists wandering the quaint alleys of the island. Rather, it’s armored police vehicles or members of the Italian military that they are more likely to encounter.

That’s worrying to Lampedusans. “The primary concern for us is that the island will be entirely transformed into a prison or a military base,” says Mr. Sferlazzo.

And the government’s plans to stop immigration don’t engender much local support, either.

Alessandro Clemente

Survivors and relatives of the 368 people lost in a shipwreck on Oct. 3, 2013, carry a sign proclaiming “Stop the Invisible Death,” as they march toward the Europe’s Door monument in Lampedusa, Italy, Oct. 3, 2023.

“Deterrents of this kind don’t halt the flow,” says Francesca Saccomandi, a social worker for Mediterranean Hope, an association dedicated to assisting migrants. “The focus on reducing the flow often abstracts individuals from their humanity, treating them as mere numbers or situations rather than recognizing them as people with inherent rights.”

Her association, which is affiliated with the Union of Italian Evangelical Churches, provided provisions to the thousands of migrants who arrived in the fall. Local people of all political inclinations – even those who may hold prejudiced or negative views of migrants – leaped to action when confronted with the immediate need.

“People opened their homes to strangers, offering them meals,” she recalls. “Restaurants shut their doors only to distribute food unconditionally, and supermarkets supplied pallets and vans filled with water and essential goods. We were genuinely heartened by this response. It was truly astounding to witness.”

But Ms. Saccomandi thinks the problems in the fall were a failure of the hot spot system, not a sign of an overwhelming problem. “Consider this: If the island can accommodate 60,000 tourists in a month, why can’t we expedite the transfer and relocation of migrants? Why can’t they be flown out?” she asks. “The answer lies in the lack of political will to view the situation from a different perspective. It’s not merely a logistical issue.”

Rising frustrations

The locals’ empathy with migrants is manifested in their willing assistance in times of crisis. But there is also a growing sense of frustration – so far directed at authorities and media, rather than at the migrants – about what the situation is doing to island livelihoods.

Over the summer, a group of young locals harassed an Italian TV crew covering migrant arrivals in Lampedusa. The group accused the journalists of negatively impacting tourism and contributing to the island’s “militarization” through their reporting.

“Between May and June, because all the political parties and journalists were screaming at each other about the increase in migrant arrivals, we recorded a 40% drop in reservations,” says Ezio Bellocchi, a hotel owner in the center of the island. “And it is only a perceived fear, not real, because the tourists never come across the migrants.”

And fishers, who often come to the rescue of migrant ships in distress, are particularly enraged with the handling of the crisis. Sunken migrant ships transform the once-clear seascapes into treacherous minefields that can damage their equipment.

“When patrol boats rescue migrants and hasten to port, they often leave the boats adrift,” explains Piero Billeci, president of the Lampedusa Shipowners’ Association. “They sink to the seabed, and our nets get stuck so often, putting our life in peril.”

Above all, Lampedusans demand one thing: a stop to deaths in the Mediterranean. More than 2,500 died attempting the crossing this year, according to the United Nations. “Witnessing deaths at sea, even in 2023, is profoundly distressing and utterly unacceptable,” says Giuseppe Fragapane, a musician who used to work at the hot spot. “We can’t go on like this.”

Brass horn, acoustic guitar, and a punch of accordion notes spill out of a restaurant on a recent rainy evening in this bustling border city. Customers sway in their seats – and some stand up to dance – while the corrido, or ballad, blasting from the speakers tells a familiar story of love, struggle, and triumph.

Corridos have been popular in Mexico for more than a century. The song playing this evening is an old-school classic. Modern versions land Mexican and Mexican American artists at the top of international billboard charts.

But a prominent subgenre with lyrics focused on drugs, bloodshed, and consumerism, and songs known as narcocorridos, has bedeviled local governments struggling with high rates of violence and drug trafficking. Last month, Tijuana banned the performance of narcocorridos following threats allegedly by organized crime groups against corrido artists visiting the city.

It may come as little surprise that officials want to stamp out praise of the deadly, illicit activities of narcos in such public venues. Tijuana has had more homicides than any other city in Mexico, with more than 1,800 murders between May 2022 and May 2023. 

But experts and fans alike say bans are ineffective – and often have the opposite effect, helping narcocorridos become even more popular. In addition to violating people’s freedom of expression, censoring songs doesn’t make cities safer, critics say.

“Corridos tell stories. If they’re good, the stories draw you in,” says Graciela Antonio, sitting with her two adult sons at the Tijuana restaurant. “I don’t personally enjoy songs about violence. But if I find myself singing along about something illegal, that doesn’t mean I’m about to do something illegal,” she says. The recent ban is “missing the point” about the problems with violence and cartels here, she adds.

Corridos came from Spanish romances and ballads, which were brought to Mexico by colonists. In Mexico – and increasingly in the United States – they have a fan base that spans generations.

Gregory Bull/AP

Mayor Montserrat Caballero Ramírez speaks during an interview in her office in Tijuana, Mexico, Aug. 24, 2023. She has said that a November law is not intended to ban all "corridos" from being performed. It is aimed at "narcocorridos."

“It’s a song related to something considered epic. ... Think of corridos as some story or history for the people,” says Juan Carlos Ramírez-Pimienta, a professor at San Diego State University who studies narcoculture and corridos. “If we want to eliminate narcocorridos, we have to make the practices of crime and drug trafficking less relevant.”

In late September, a banner spelling out threats from a drug cartel showed up in Tijuana in the lead-up to a concert by a world-famous Mexican artist, Peso Pluma. Soon after, a Mexican American group also allegedly received threats from organized criminals. The musicians said the threats were over narcocorridos performed at their shows. They canceled their October performances.

The government ban soon followed.

Any artist who “transmits, exhibits, sings, or reproduces music, videos, images, or anything similar that promotes a culture of violence or apologizes for crime or illegal acts in a live performance” will be fined up to $57,000 according to the ruling passed unanimously by Tijuana’s City Council in November.

Mayor Montserrat Caballero Ramírez, who moved into military barracks last spring due to continued threats on her life, said the law is not intended to ban all corridos from being performed. “Do not misrepresent what corridos are because they are welcome and even inspirational and part of Mexican folklore,” she said after the vote. “What cannot be part of Mexican tradition and cannot represent us is the narcocorrido and the apology for crime.”

Censorship, or concert safety?

Tijuana isn’t the first government to take a stab at banning songs that glorify violence and drugs. But José Andrés Sumano Rodríguez, professor of cultural studies at the Colegio de la Frontera Norte, sees something new happening here.

“In the case of Tijuana, it’s more about the incapacity of the government to guarantee safety at these events,” than about trying to censor artists, he says. “Tijuana is in the center of the fentanyl crisis. There are various [organized crime] groups competing for control of the drug market, which makes it a little complicated to protect not just the musicians singing about these things, but the fans at concerts to see them.”

Gregory Bull/AP/File

Photojournalist Angeles Garcia honors news photographer Margarito Martinez during a vigil in his honor several days after he was shot as he left his home in January 2022, in Tijuana, Mexico. Tijuana has more homicides than any other city in Mexico.

While politicians might see an appeal in banning songs that glorify the drug trade, a 2021 study found such bans also have the unintended effect of making them more popular – and enhancing the image of musicians as rebels who are above the law.

“Living documents”

The songs are valuable, even if the content is shocking, says Anajilda Mondaca Cota, who has studied the effects of drug trafficking on Mexican culture for several decades and recently retired from the Universidad Autónoma de Occidente in the state of Sinaloa.

“They are like living documents that help us understand the violence that’s transformed our country,” she says. Narcocorridos have shifted greatly even over just the past 15 years since the launch of former President Felipe Calderón’s so-called war on cartels. It’s important to document that, “even if painful,” she says.

The Mexican government’s inability to halt cartel violence lies at the root of the enduring popularity of corridos in Mexico, says Dr. Ramírez-Pimienta.

“There’s a sense that justice as an institutionalized activity is not strong in Mexico,” he says. “So, this notion of taking justice into your own hands is prevalent. As one corrido says, ‘with his pistol in his hands,’ people believe they have to defend themselves.

“I don’t believe a country where harmony and peace prevail could produce a lot of ballads these days,” he adds. “It’s a cultural privilege to have the ongoing production of this music in Mexico, but the source of it is in inequity, the lack of justice, and a sense of a difficult life.”

Reuters/Carlos Barria

Horsetail Fall at El Capitan, seen during sunset in Yosemite National Park, California, on Feb. 15, 2023. Many Americans find spirituality in a connection to nature.

Worried that Americans are marching into an election year more divided than ever? Take another look.

In October, a first-ever Connection Index offered a striking counternarrative. Conducted by The Harris Poll, it found that 76% of Americans see the good in those they disagree with and 71% have friends who hold views they don’t share.

Those attitudes may reflect something more than mere personal affection. A new survey of American spirituality reveals a deeper basis of thought binding society together. Published by the Pew Research Center this month, the study asked more than 11,000 Americans how they thought about spirituality. It found a recurring theme of connectedness.

For example, 74% described “being connected with something bigger than myself” as an essential quality of spirituality. Seventy percent said the same about “being connected with God,” while 64% said “being connected with my ‘true self’” and 54% said “being open-minded” were essential to spirituality. Nearly 4 in 10 said spirituality involved “being connected with other people.”

Overall, the survey found, 9 in 10 Americans believe in God or a power higher than themselves, 70% describe themselves as spiritual, and 53% expressed a “deep sense of connection with humanity.” These views were drawn from across multiple demographic and denominational boundaries.

For years, medical practitioners have been gathering evidence that spirituality is a vital factor in health. Some 90% of medical schools in the United States, 59% in Britain, and 52% in German-speaking countries now include spiritual studies in their curricula. As the Pew study notes, society is drawing new distinctions between being spiritual and being religious. Doctors and nurses incorporating spirituality in health care often start with the simple act of listening.

“When I think of spirituality in health care, it’s the connection we make with other people,” Diana Veneri, an associate professor of physical therapy at Sacred Heart University in Connecticut, told a public forum in July. Such empathy and compassion promote healing by alleviating fear and affirming a sense of individual worth, medical studies have shown.

They have a similar effect on society as a whole. “Social connectedness influences our minds, bodies, and behaviors – all of which influence our health and life expectancy,” the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention concluded in a March study. “Inclusive connections in our neighborhoods, schools, places of worship, workplaces, and other settings are associated with ... and support the overall well-being, health, safety, and resilience of communities.” 

For one respondent in the Pew study, spirituality meant being able to “see the beauty in everything, feel the love of Mother Nature, to know that there is something out there that is greater than me, that loves me, that looks out for me.” That kind of seeing good may be the reason behind the Connection Index finding that Americans don’t need to agree in order to get along.