I grew up in a neighbourhood called Prati, in Rome, one step away from the Vatican. Prati is not really a green area, so instead of taking me and my siblings to play in a park after school, my parents used to take us to St Peter’s Square, where we used to feed the hungry pigeons dry bread from our pockets. I didn’t understand that when I was at the square I was no longer in Italy, but in the “Vatican City State”. That was mainly because, given my origins, I knew well what travelling to other countries meant and you certainly couldn’t do that with a ten-minute walk.

In the days in which the faithful gathered to listen to Pope John Paul II, I was always very excited. I didn’t attach religious significance to those ceremonies. For me the pope was just a kind man, who let us play in his huge terrace and sometimes gave us precious advice and prayed. I remember my mother listening to him in respectful silence. When he died, she was among those who queued up for hours, only to bid him farewell. After all, he was elected pope the same year she arrived in Italy.

A lot has changed since then. The feelings of fraternity and mutual respect between members of the two religious communities slowly faded away. Was it because of 9/11? Because of ISIS? Or because of the hateful political propaganda which characterised the past few elections?

Islamophobic elements are consistently present in mainstream media and they were more so this week in particular. Silvia Romano, an Italian volunteer who was kidnapped in Kenya a year-and-a-half ago by Al-Shabaab, finally returned home, but she did so as a Muslim.

Members of the opposition accused her of being a terrorist in parliament and her liberation was questioned because of her choice to return whilst donning a green jilbab (a loose coat usually worn by Muslims). Some went so far as to claim it was “like freeing someone from a concentration camp and then watching them return in a Nazi uniform”.

Although religion is meant to be a personal matter, it has become a matter of public debate everywhere in the world. Muslims are portrayed as the villains most of the time here.

Andrea Angelucci, an Italian travel blogger and archaeologist who visited Pakistan for the first time a year ago, was very pleasantly surprised by the hospitality of people there. “I was let into different homes, invited for meals, hugged by strangers on the streets,” he recalls. “It was all very overwhelming. No one, not once, asked me about my beliefs.”

Andrea was raised in a practising Catholic family, like most people in Italy. When he shared his experience with me, I was surprised to learn no one had trouble sharing their food or water with him, a Christian.

The total number of Christians in Pakistan is estimated at four million, or two per cent of the population. Although they make up one of the two largest religious minorities in Pakistan, they are still widely discriminated against. “People don’t mind using them as help in their house,” my friend Sahira tells me. “But when it comes to just letting them touch your bartan (utensil) or your religious household items, is where they draw the line.”

So why was Andrea allowed to do so? Is it really a matter of religion or is it a class issue that is justified with unfounded religious rhetoric?

Sadia Iqbal is a government employee who lives in Youhanabad, the largest Christian-majority area in Lahore. When her driver came to pick her on her first day in office, he told her the neighbourhood she lives in is not a good one because it’s full of Christians. Little did he know she is a Christian herself. When I asked her if she told him, she said, “I didn’t feel the need to. My satisfaction is in the fact that he needs to come and pick me up from here each day, whether he likes it or not.”

Even the holy Quran mentions that Jews, Christians and Muslims are all people of the book, therefore brothers and sisters; yet it seems to be a very difficult concept to grasp for many.

Last week, Pope Francis reiterated the Higher Committee of Human Fraternity’s invitation to all religions to make May 14th a day of prayer, fasting, and acts of charity to ask God for an end to the pandemic.

“I believe state secularism is a great conquest for humanity and for the freedom of the individual, but that doesn’t mean one can’t respect the faith of others,” says Andrea. “Some of my Pakistani followers on Instagram invited me to join them in fasting for one day in Ramazan and when I read the Pope’s appeal too, I decided to do it.”

My family invited Andrea over for a special iftar to celebrate the breaking of his fast together. Rice and peas, daal, achari chicken, dahi bhalle, fruit chat and pakore decorated the table. He was not served food in a plastic plate, but our best dinnerware.

Both Italy and Pakistan have a lot to learn when it comes to religious discriminations, but watching Andrea and my parents laughing and feasting together gave me a glimpse of what I would like the future to look like.

Published in Dawn, May 17th, 2020