Chiclayo (Agenzia Fides) – The “beloved diocese” of Bishop Robert Francis Prevost has become today the “city of Pope Leo XIV.” Since May 8, 2025, the day of his election, Chiclayo has ceased to be merely a geographical and existential periphery. However, this event alone was not the catalyst for its rebirth. Rather, it served to highlight, marked, and rekindle a history of renewal and liberation that gradually took shape in the Lambayeque region of northern Peru. This is not the history rooted in the ancient pre-Inca Moche civilization, visible in the monumental sculptures of the Paseo Yortuque, the avenue leading into the city, or narrated in the Museum of the Royal Tombs of Sipán, but rather a Christian history, embodied in the journey of faith of a community alongside its bishop, now Pope. Since his election to the papal throne, participation in liturgical celebrations, catechesis, and ecclesial events has increased.
In the diocese where, from September 2015 to January 2023, “Father Roberto”—as the locals affectionately call him—served as bishop, I have seen new threads interwoven into the complex tapestry of Peruvian life: those that reveal the surprising nuances of “the existential presence of Jesus in the slums, among the marginalized, the sick, immigrants, and those with drug addictions” (cf. The Church and the Poor, no. 22, 1994. Commission for Social Pastoral Care of the Spanish Episcopal Conference).
Rebirth in the In Dialogo Community
In northern Peru, amidst peripheries marked by poverty, migration, and new addictions, the Community in Dialogue carries out a mission summarized in the phrase inscribed at its entrance: “To love a person means to say to them: ‘You will not die.’ To love them in Christ is to give them a complete resurrection.” These are words that welcome everyone in each of the centers of this community, founded thirty-five years ago in Italy by Father Matteo Tagliaferri and present since 2004 in Chiclayo-Reque as well.
It all began with a Peruvian mother’s plea for help for her son Jesús, who was suffering from addiction. Father Matteo responded by welcoming the young man, just as he had done with the Community’s first member in Italy. “I started because a father left his son, Danilo, in my car near the parish house in Casamaina (L’Aquila), where I was the parish priest,” he recalls. “I didn’t think I was taking in a drug addict, but a person. I took in Danilo. At that moment, I was given the opportunity to return the great love I had received from God the Father, which I discovered when I was a scared, withdrawn, and disoriented teenager. I am the first young man in the Community.” He greets us via video call from the headquarters in Trivigliano. His approach and perspective, in a context like Peru’s, seem anything but predictable. Monsignor Jesús Moliné Labarta, Bishop Emeritus of Chiclayo, who is at home in the In Dialogo Community of Chiclayo —where he offers spiritual support—describes the Vincentian friend’s method as “bold,” because “people expect other things, but ultimately it’s the Gospel. This is how those who are welcomed can embark on a process of conversion and experience an encounter with Jesus Christ.” The rehabilitation center system, for its part, is marked by serious problems: a vast network of centers exists without effective regulation, where addiction is addressed with punitive approaches. Closed environments, similar to prisons, forced admissions, and coercive practices have also been the subject of international complaints. In this context, the experience of the In Dialogo Community stands out for its radically different approach: not isolating the person, but reaching out to them; not repressing behavior, but understanding its causes and healing the wounds; not marginalizing, but accompanying them on a path of freedom and responsibility. It is a place of rebirth for those facing addiction, alcoholism, loneliness, and disorientation. It is also a first line of defense against the recent threat of the “tusi” drug- a mixture of cheap synthetic substances, even made at home using tutorials available online- often sold as “pink cocaine” in Peruvian schools, where it is wreaking havoc among minors, as Sandro, who met me at the airport and shared his story of rebirth after experiencing “death” from cocaine, explained to me.
Sandro, born in Arequipa, the son of Italian migrants and raised until his twenties in Milan, where he first encountered cocaine, is now sixty, years old and a worker at the In Dialogo Community in Chiclayo. “The drug was just the consequence of a deeper evil. An evil of the soul. But I didn’t understand it before.” For years, that void remained nameless. An evil rooted in his personal history: an absent father, a distant mother, and a childhood marked by a feeling of exclusion. “At first, I simply tried to fill that void with tobacco, then with other things. And, without realizing it, I found myself caught in a whirlwind that was dragging me along. My mother, not knowing what else to do with me, decided to remove me from that environment and send me to Peru.” However, in Lima, his cocaine addiction took a different, less visible, and more marginal form. “My addiction was a little different from others. I didn’t lack money, I had nice cars, I lived a good life.” That apparent “good life,” however, ended up becoming a silent trap that prolonged the problem. “On the one hand, I think it was a positive thing, because I didn’t have to do certain things… But, on the other hand, it prolonged my addiction.” The turning point came around the age of fifty. After fifteen years together, his partner presented him with a definitive choice: “Sandro, do something with your life; otherwise, it’s over.” That's when he began to look for help. He found it thanks to an uncle, a businessman who had become a Peruvian citizen and knew the In Dialogo Community in Chiclayo. “It was the community that changed everything. I was 52 years old,” he says with extreme frankness. “The first few months were difficult: I didn't understand what was happening. They talked about love, about welcoming… and I couldn't grasp it.” Even so, he decided to stay. The path wasn't straightforward: he tried several times to return to his old life, and each time he failed. “The third time, I understood that I had to stop.” Over time, that environment that at first seemed incomprehensible to him became his home. Today, Sandro is a facilitator and a role model for young people who are on a similar path. “Today I have an inner peace I had never experienced before. I try to use it to serve others. The Community has given me the opportunity to re-read my life with different eyes, through a gaze of love. That's where my rebirth began. Before, without drugs, I didn't know how to live. Today, I do.”
For 21 years, the In Dialogo Community had only one center for men; since last year, a women's center has also opened. Alicia, 44, is the "first living stone" of this community, and she bravely explains why: "I live in Chiclayo, a city where very few people, few women, dare to ask for help because they feel judged. Here, women can't be alcoholics, they can't have addiction problems because they are stigmatized. Only men can have problems, not women. They must stay at home and be proper," explains Alicia, adding: "But in reality, emptiness and problems don't affect only one gender." “All of us, men and women, are exposed to the same risks.” In a culture where female vulnerability is often denied or stigmatized, many women remain invisible. However, the birth of the women's community in Chiclayo represents a new space, where it is possible to recognize oneself and start anew. It was precisely to respond to Alicia's plea for help that Father Matteo Tagliaferri opened the first women's house of the In Dialogo Community in Peru. “They welcomed me. They didn't see a person with a vice or a need for alcohol, but rather a human being who needed help.” Her words are a vibrant echo of the founder's. They burst forth, demand space, insist on being heard. “I realized that my problem stemmed from a lack of love, from the absence of a father, from the absence of a mother who was both there and not there, from abuse…” she recounts, as if piecing together the fragments of a life. She doesn't speak only of addiction: she also speaks of an existential void. “At first, I thought it was just an addiction problem, but the community taught me to open my wounds, to say what I felt, to remove many masks.” It is the story of a revelation, of a slow work on herself that involves honesty, falling, and the possibility of rising again. “Here they taught me to want to live,” she adds, as if that will were a recent conquest, fragile and at the same time incredibly powerful, after four suicide attempts…
This reconquest of herself and her surprising relationship with her children is intertwined with her life. “One of the things that really touched me was that my children always supported me in this.” Her eldest daughter, a student, never left her side: she continued to visit, even telling her that she wanted to take her university classmates to visit the community. A proposal that initially disconcerted Alicia, forcing her to confront the shame and stigma: “How can she do that, when I, her mother, am here, in a rehabilitation center?” But the daughter broke through all fear: “Mom, you know, I don’t feel bad, I’m at peace, now I know where you are, I know you’re fine.” In those disconcerting words, Alicia acknowledges something she hadn't expected: the extraordinary love of a daughter capable of regenerating her as a mother as well. Hers is a passionate testimony of "resurrection of the heart," filled with gratitude. "Here they taught me to love life, and every time I wake up I say: thank you, God, for saving my life, look how beautiful it is! I want to tell everyone that life is beautiful, that God has taught me to love and to love myself." Alicia has already entered the phase of reintegration into the workforce. Our meeting ends with a hug.
I also hold the story of young César close to my heart: "I'm an alcoholic," he says bluntly. His words have a different tone, drier, almost restrained. "If I think about the past, I think I've never been happy. I've never been happy." He goes back in time, searching for the origin of this addiction: insecurity, a lack of self-esteem, an emotional need he failed to recognize. "My parents tried to give me everything, but perhaps I didn't understand their way of doing it." From there, a series of wrong decisions led to self-destruction. When speaking of the Community, however, the story takes a different turn. “Here they are teaching me something I didn't know for 35 years of my life: love.” A concrete experience: values, principles, norms, relationships that prepare him to return to the world “as a responsible man, taking responsibility for the consequences of my actions.” What impresses him most is the generosity: “I had never seen people who truly want to lend a hand without any ulterior reason.” It is in this discovery that César recognizes a decisive step: learning to receive in order to give. “Day after day, I try to give a little of what they have offered me.” And in the phrase the leaders addressed to him—"You have already lived half your life in darkness. It is time to begin living this second half of your life in the light"—the meaning of a path that does not erase the past, but rather tries to reopen it; that does not ignore the wounds, but rather transforms them into slivers of light, is encapsulated.
This missionary work is also made possible by a network of people who share a common vision, one that places the dignity of the person and the possibility of redemption at its center. Among them is Giorgio Batistini, an Italian businessman who emigrated to Peru after the war, now in his nineties. Deeply rooted in the Chiclayo region, Batistini has combined his business activities with a constant focus on the social fabric, supporting educational initiatives and collaborating with local universities. His encounter and friendship with the In Dialogo Community translate into concrete support for the processes of reception and reintegration. Juan Carlos Reaño, a lay member of the Society of Saint Vincent de Paul and a collaborator with the In Dialogo Community for over fourteen years, recounts, on the other hand, the connection with the local Church and recalls Bishop Robert Francis Prevost, then bishop of the diocese. “He spent a morning there, witnessing firsthand the reality and scourge of drug addiction and our community's commitment to serving and helping those affected. He encouraged us to continue working, to share our time with those most in need, always leading by example. He has always strongly supported service initiatives.” The In Dialogo Community is one such initiative, but it operates within a broader missionary context. It is Juan Carlos himself who broadens this perspective. Rebirth thanks to the Commission for Human Mobility and Trafficking in Persons
Juan Carlos Reaño also had “the opportunity to get to know Bishop Prevost well, working within the Commission for Human Mobility and Trafficking in Persons, serving those who migrated to Chiclayo and couldn't find a place to live. People forced to spend the night on the streets. He personally visited them, understood the full scope of their situation, and became involved in addressing the needs he encountered each time he visited these communities.”
Venezuelan teacher Betania Rodríguez also testifies to this: “Like all migrants, I arrived with my family—my husband and my two children—in 2019. In the following months, unable to work because I lacked residency documents,” she recounts, “I dedicated myself to tutoring migrant children who couldn't access the school system. Bishop Prevost was concerned about the migrant community, particularly the Venezuelan community, since at that time it seemed to be the most affected, and this concern led him to bring lay people closer to the Catholic Church and to support migrants in vulnerable situations. This is how the Commission for Human Mobility and Trafficking in Persons of the Diocese of Chiclayo was born, with the main objective of making a difference through three fundamental principles: welcoming, protecting, and promoting the migrant community. Bishop Prevost's pastoral mission has left a deep mark on our hearts. His presence was a beacon of hope.” especially for the migrants and refugees who arrived in Peru in search of a dignified life. He built bridges of solidarity, reminding us that the Church is called to be a home for all.” This style is reflected in the words of Juan Carlos, who emphasizes his method and his legacy: “He always encouraged us to work collaboratively, to work in unity, to work that must be everyone’s work, so that we can provide the most accessible and effective service. ‘The more united we are,’ he would say, ‘the more we will form a community capable of welcoming and addressing all these needs and all these difficulties.’
We are filled with hope knowing that he will soon return to visit his beloved Chiclayo.” (Agenzia Fides, 31/3/2026)
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