As candles flickered in the church where he first felt the call to priesthood, and crowds gathered at the cathedral he once led, Argentines across the country mourned the passing of Pope Francis — a native son whose life and legacy sparked both deep admiration and controversy.
Jorge Mario Bergoglio, who became the first Latin American pope in 2013, died Monday at the age of 88. In his homeland, the news prompted an outpouring of grief, especially in the poorer neighborhoods of Buenos Aires where he had earned the affectionate nickname “the slum bishop.”
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While beloved by many for his commitment to the marginalized and his calls for social justice, Francis also drew sharp criticism from conservative voices who saw his close ties with Argentina’s populist left as politically divisive. His warm relationship with former President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner, a figure widely blamed for the country’s economic woes, stood in stark contrast to his brief and frosty 2016 meeting with her center-right successor, Mauricio Macri.
“He was rebellious like most Argentines,” said Catalina Favaro, 23, who came to pay her respects at the Buenos Aires cathedral. “Yes, he was contradictory, but that made him human.”
On Monday, Kirchner praised their connection, calling Francis “the face of a more humane church,” while Macri remembered him as “a stern politician” but ultimately “a good pastor.”
A Champion of the Poor
At a morning Mass in the capital, Archbishop Jorge Ignacio García Cuerva honored Francis’ devotion to those living on society’s margins. “The pope of the poor, of the excluded, of those forgotten, has passed away,” he said. “He was the pope we didn't always understand, but whom we loved.”
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Despite traveling extensively throughout the world — including visits to neighboring Latin American nations — Francis never returned to Argentina after becoming pope. Many believed his absence was a conscious choice to avoid the deep political divides at home, a theory reinforced by his fraught relationship with current libertarian President Javier Milei, who once publicly derided him as “the representative of evil.”
Although the two appeared to reconcile during a Vatican meeting in 2024, tensions flared again when Francis criticized Milei’s harsh austerity measures. “Instead of paying for social justice, they paid for pepper spray,” he said, after police clashed with elderly pension protesters.
Still, Milei offered condolences following the pope’s death, noting, “Despite differences that seem minor today, knowing him in his kindness and wisdom was a true honor.”
Tributes and Turmoil
As Masses were held throughout the country, emotions ran high — especially during a large open-air service near the church where Francis first heard his calling. The scene turned chaotic when Vice President Victoria Villarruel, a polarizing figure with ties to Argentina’s former dictatorship, attempted to pass through the crowd and was met with jeers, shoving, and chants of “Get her away from here!”
Despite the unrest, heartfelt tributes poured in from those in neighborhoods where Francis left a lasting mark. In Villa 21-24, one of Buenos Aires’ most impoverished districts, residents recalled his regular visits — sharing maté with recovering addicts and leading barefoot processions through the streets. His influence helped transform their modest church into a thriving community hub.
“He was the most humble person in all of Buenos Aires,” said Sara Benitez Fernandez, a longtime parishioner. “He never used a car. He took the subway. He walked like the rest of us. We’ll never see another pope like him.”
Legacy of Compassion
In the Flores district, just blocks from his childhood home, mourners gathered at the Basilica of San Jose de Flores — the very place where a 16-year-old Bergoglio felt his divine calling. “He was a father to us,” said Gabriela Lucero, 66. “His greatest teaching was that the church doors stay open to everyone.”
For the priests continuing Francis’ mission in Argentina’s poorest neighborhoods, his death was both a profound loss and a renewed call to serve. “It’s a day of pain,” said Rev. Lorenzo de Vedia, better known as Padre Toto. “But we’re not stopping. We’ll keep his spirit alive. His mission is now ours.”
With national flags flying at half-staff and a week of mourning declared, Argentina bids farewell to a complex and deeply influential figure — a pope who never returned home, yet never left his people behind.