Leo XIV: The Vatican’s Counterpower?

The recent papal election in the Vatican, following the death of Jorge Bergoglio (Pope Francis), has sparked a wave of reactions and theories. Many, influenced by films like The Two Popes or Netflix’s latest Conclave, already had an idea—or at least a cinematic fantasy—of how these processes unfold.

But no one saw this coming: Robert Francis Prevost, an American citizen, has been elected the new Pope. The first “gringo” Pope in history. Yes, you heard that right.

They say even he watched Conclave before the actual conclave. Ironic or prophetic, the fact remains that his election is no coincidence. The Vatican doesn’t move without intention, and this decision seems to carry implications far beyond religion.

Since Donald Trump’s second rise to power, the global political climate has become more aggressive, more ideological, more polarized. The Church, which for centuries has operated as a silent geopolitical player, now appears to be taking a more active role.

Prevost—now known as Leo XIV—is not just the first American Pope: he is a symbol. He speaks English, knows the political and religious culture of the United States firsthand, and also spent years living in Peru. He holds Peruvian citizenship. He understands Latin America—its history of social struggles, liberation theology, and open wounds.

And no, he is not a neutral figure.

His choice of the name Leo XIV was no decoration. It references a papal lineage committed to the poor, to social justice, and to defending Christianity in its most human dimension. In many ways, he aligns more with Francis’ progressive vision than with Benedict XVI’s conservative rigidity. Close collaborators of Donald Trump, such as political strategist Steve Bannon, have already voiced their discontent with Prevost’s liberal views.

Some are already calling him “the Yankee Pope.” Others, jokingly, “Daddy Yankee.” The nickname might sound humorous, but his election is already shaking the hardest sectors of the Christian right in the U.S., particularly those aligned with Trump.

In fact, just before the conclave, the president shared an AI-generated image of himself dressed as the Pope. Joke or prophecy, reality took a strange turn. Trump was partially right: the new Pope is from the U.S.

Leo XIV’s election appears to be a strategic move by the Vatican—a response to the rise of ultra-conservative Christianity, which seeks to turn religion into a political weapon. The Catholic Church, it seems, wants to put a stop to that madness.

Leo XIV comes from a working-class background in Chicago, birthplace of former President Barack Obama and a well-known liberal stronghold. His past, his education, his language, and his worldview make him an uncomfortable figure for those seeking an authoritarian form of Christianity. They call him a communist—just like they did with Bergoglio, just like with Obama.

But this is not about empty labels. This is about a Church saying: enough with mixing faith and propaganda. Enough with using religion to justify discriminatory policies or to rank love. Enough with nationalism disguised as spirituality.

When someone like Vice President JD Vance says, “Our family first, then our fellow citizens, and then everyone else,” Leo XIV replies: “No, sir. Love has no hierarchy.” That was a clear message—one he delivered even before being elected Pope.

Now, with war in Europe, rising tensions in Asia, and increasingly hostile immigration policies in the U.S., the new Pope seems ready to play an active role. Betting on peace. Defending migrants. And reminding the world—and Christians—that faith must not be a tool of politics.

The Vatican has launched its own counterweight. The yin to Trump’s yang. The balance of moderate, tolerant faith against an unhinged and fanatical cult. The Church has spoken—and it spoke in English.