Interview with Alberto Ares Mateos SJ, director of Jesuit Refugee Service Europe.
With this article we want to start a series of interviews with the people that leads the different apostolic works under the Jesuit Conference of European Provincials. We will start with Fr. Alberto Ares SJ, Director of JRS-Europe, the regional office of the Jesuit Refugee Service in Europe that is supported by the Conference of Provincials.
For the past four years, Alberto Ares SJ has led JRS Europe through some of the most turbulent moments in recent history—from the lingering effects of the pandemic to the large-scale displacement triggered by the war in Ukraine. His leadership has shaped the organisation’s response across 23 country offices, grounding each action in the Jesuit mission of accompaniment and hospitality.
Alberto’s commitment to refugees is deeply rooted in his Jesuit vocation, which he has lived through years of working alongside people on the margins. His experiences in migrant neighbourhoods, shelters, and border communities have shaped his understanding of service, justice, and the call to be close to those who suffer.
In this interview, Alberto reflects on the personal and spiritual foundations of his mission, the lessons he has learned from forcibly displaced people, the evolving realities of migration in Europe, and the hope that continues to guide JRS Europe forward. He answered the following 7 questions:
1 - You took the role as director of JRS Europe 4 years ago. How would you describe this period? Which tasks/missions/projects have you been involved in?
2. What does it mean to be a Jesuit working at JRS Europe? How do you see your work as a realization of your Jesuit vocation?
3. How do you see the Ignatian tradition guiding JRS in a Europe that often struggles with compassion fatigue toward migrants?
4. What are the main trends or challenges you see in migration across Europe today?
5. What kind of dialogue exists between JRS and European institutions, and what would you like to see improved?
6. What gives you hope in this work, despite the many challenges?
7. If you could convey one message to European leaders — and one to ordinary citizens — (or one to both) about refugees, what would they be?
1. JCEP: You took the role as director of JRS Europe 4 years ago. How would you describe this period? Which tasks/missions/projects have you been involved in?
Alberto Ares: The past four years and a half serving at JRS Europe have been profoundly humbling and challenging. When I arrived in September 2021, Europe was still absorbing the immediate aftermath of the COVID-19 pandemic, but what truly defined these years was the Russian invasion of Ukraine in February 2022—an event that would reshape many of our work.
This period can be understood through several major phases. First, we strengthened our foundational work: supporting our network of 23 country offices in 245 locations across Europe with nearly 800 staff members and over 6,900 volunteers, reaching around 200,000 individuals seeking protection and dignity in 2024 alone.
But the Ukrainian emergency became the defining mission of these four years. We coordinated what we call the One Proposal—a unified Jesuit response to the largest humanitarian displacement in Europe since World War II. Through this initiative, coordinated with the Xavier Network and local partners, we’ve assisted almost 145,000 people with emergency aid, shelter, psychosocial support, education, vocational training, and integration services. What moves me most is how our response evolved: we began with emergency shelter, but as the crisis persisted, we shifted to medium- and long-term integration services. By 2024, eight out of ten of our services were focused on long-term support rather than immediate relief. This taught us something crucial about accompaniment—it’s not a sprint; it’s a committed journey.
I have seen how hospitality has transformed our offices, Jesuit communities, and the lives of so many refugees and displaced persons over the years. Because hospitality transforms not only those who enter, but also those who open their doors, when true encounters take place. Many examples from these years come to mind.
Simultaneously, we have continued our important work accompanying vulnerable people in detention centres across Europe, publishing joint reports and engaging in serious advocacy. We carried out our work with young people, training and raising awareness among educational communities in a large network of secondary schools across Europe. Our CHANGE programmes have become a benchmark in this field in recent years, involving students, teachers and refugees in different areas such as climate change and participation, among others.
We developed the Livelihoods Project, helping displaced people restore their agency and dignity through socio-economic opportunities leading to social inclusion and integration. We strengthened our Communities of Hospitality initiatives where local families and communities welcomed forced migrants into their homes, Gospel hospitality in action.
We’ve also intensified our advocacy work at the European Union level, engaging with the European Parliament, the European Commission, and civil society. We participated actively in the adoption discussions of the EU Pact on Asylum and Migration, advocating firmly for refugee and migrants rights and warning about the risks of arbitrary detention. We have developed important raising awareness campaigns, especially around the time of the European elections, such as "Dear European Parliament”.
This period has required us to be simultaneously present at three levels: with direct service to vulnerable people, with our staff and volunteers supporting them, and at policy tables defending the rights of those who are often forgotten.
To be a Jesuit at JRS Europe is to live at the intersection of contemplation and action—what we call the Ignatian tradition of contemplativus in actione.
I live my vocation as a Jesuit with a strong foundation in the Lord of Life, which gives meaning to my life through service and walking alongside the most vulnerable people. St. Ignatius, taught us to find God in all things—Deus in omnibus. When I accompany a migrant person, listen to their story of loss and hope, or sit with a family torn apart by war, I feel God's presence in my life. This is not a metaphor; this is lived reality.
Being a Jesuit at JRS Europe means several things for me:
My mission is marked by accompaniment. We don’t simply hand out aid. We walk with people—we sit with them, we listen, we learn from them. I have been deeply evangelized by refugees themselves. Their resilience, their faith, their dignity despite everything—they teach me more about hope than I could ever have imagined. This reciprocal accompaniment is Ignatian to the core.
My vocation is not only to serve but to advocate for structural change. We cannot simply patch wounds while the system that creates them remains untouched. When we oppose the EU Pact on Asylum and Migration, when we call for safe and legal pathways to asylum, when we document detention abuses in 11 European countries—this is how a Jesuit fulfills the preferential option for the poor.
I live this mission as a communal experience. I am not doing this alone. I work with an extraordinary team at JRS Europe and with 23 country offices. The Society of Jesus has always worked in community. We discern together, we challenge each other, we hold each other accountable to our mission. This collaborative approach reflects our Jesuit charism.
Finally, the integration of faith and justice is crucial to my vocation. Jesuits are called to be men for others. My faith is not lived in isolation—it’s lived in the faces of people uprooted from their homes, in the determination of a mother seeking asylum for her children, in the solidarity of volunteers who open their homes to strangers.
I would say that being a Jesuit at JRS Europe has made my vocation more real, more concrete, more challenging, and ultimately more joyful than I could have imagined.
This is perhaps the most urgent spiritual and pastoral question we face today. Compassion fatigue is real—it’s not a failure of Europeans’ hearts, but a symptom of exhaustion, uncertainty, and often, misinformation. When public sentiment shifts, when neighbours begin to question whether hospitality is sustainable, we face a profound spiritual crisis.
In my opinion, the Ignatian tradition offers profound wisdom for this moment:
St. Ignatius teaches us that authentic change comes through relationship and encounter. Compassion doesn’t fatigue when it’s based on real human connection—when a European family hosts a refugee family, when they share meals, when they see the humanity of the other. Our Communities of Hospitality embody this: they create spaces where people can encounter each other as full human beings, not as abstractions or problems to be solved. This transforms fatigue into solidarity.
Ignatius was a man of profound hope rooted not in naïveté but in faith. He believed that God works in history, that change is possible. In a context of fatigue and resignation, we must cultivate hope as a spiritual practice. Our team speaks of this constantly: panic is never a good advisor, but hope is. When we gather our staff and volunteers, we remind them that every person we accompany, every policy change we achieve, every family that opens its door—these are signs that another Europe is possible.
Our Ignatian tradition teaches us to discern between spirits that lead toward life and those that lead toward death. Compassion fatigue, when it turns to xenophobia or despair, represents a death spirit. JRS’s role is to help society discern: Are these narratives that dignify human beings or diminish them? Are these policies that protect life or endanger it? Do these systems reflect our deepest values or betray them?
The Ignatian practice of finding God in all things, being contemplatives in action, prevents us from becoming merely pragmatic or cynical. When we work on policy papers at the European Commission, when we visit detention centres, when we coordinate emergency response—we do so as people seeking God. This spiritual practice prevents burnout and grounds us in deeper meaning.
Ignatius was a man of schools. We believe that overcoming compassion fatigue requires formation—helping Europeans understand the actual reality of migration, the contributions migrants make, the reasons people are displaced. Our advocacy campaigns, our communications work, our partnerships with educational institutions—these are Ignatian investments in forming conscience.
The Ignatian tradition teaches us that compassion is not a feeling that comes and goes. It’s a commitment rooted in faith—a choice to see Christ in the migrant, to stand with the excluded, to work for justice even when it’s unpopular. In a Europe struggling with fatigue, the Ignatian tradition invites us to recommit to this deeper reality again and again.
The landscape has shifted dramatically even in the few years I’ve been at JRS Europe. Let me outline what concerns us most:
First, the paradox of stabilization amid global crisis: While European irregular arrivals have declined significantly—down 40% compared to previous years—global displacement has reached unprecedented levels. The UNHCR reports 122.6 million forcibly displaced people worldwide. Europe’s relative stability masks problems that have been postponed, not solved. We’ve externalized our borders, shifted responsibility to transit countries, and created new obstacles rather than addressing root causes.
Second, shifting migration routes and vulnerabilities: The composition of migration to Europe is changing. We’re seeing fewer Syrians and more Venezuelans, increased Central American migration, and the complex dynamics following the fall of the Assad regime in Syria. Each shift brings different protection needs and different vulnerabilities. The Central Mediterranean remains the deadliest route, with over 1,000 deaths recorded this year alone.
Third, detention as a default policy: One of our greatest concerns is the normalization of detention. The EU Asylum and Migration Pact, adopted in May 2024, risks institutionalizing arbitrary detention at borders. JRS documents this daily in many European countries. Detention traumatizes people, especially the vulnerable—children, survivors of torture, people with mental health conditions. Yet it’s increasingly presented as an efficiency measure rather than a last resort.
Fourth, externalization of responsibility: The EU is pushing agreements with third countries—including Libya, Tunisia, and others with poor human rights records—to process asylum applications outside European territory. This abdicates our legal and moral responsibility and puts vulnerable people at grave risk of refoulement and abuse.
Fifth, compassion fatigue and rising xenophobia: We’re witnessing growing intolerance in countries that initially showed extraordinary generosity. In Poland, where nearly 1 million Ukrainians have sought refuge, reports of discrimination and hostility are increasing. This is concerning not just for current refugees but for what it signals about our capacity to welcome in the future.
Sixth, integration and long-term support: The gap between emergency response and sustainable integration remains enormous. We’re seeing improved outcomes when we invest in education, livelihoods, and community connection—our Livelihoods Project demonstrates this. Yet European systems often lack coherent long-term integration frameworks.
Seventh, the war in Ukraine: The brutal war in Ukraine, with the highest number of displaced persons since the Second World War, poses a major challenge for Europe and for our teams through the One Proposal Project, who are committed to engaging amid so much pain and death. This situation continues to raise serious questions for displaced Ukrainians throughout Europe.
Eighth, labor migration and demographic needs: Beyond humanitarian concerns, there’s a paradox: Europe faces aging populations and labour shortages, yet migration policies remain restrictive. The economic contributions of migrants—often greater than the native-born population in net fiscal terms—are systematically ignored in public discourse.
Ninth, the geopolitical context: The war in Ukraine, instability in the Middle East and North Africa, climate-driven displacement, and now the incoming U.S. administration’s focus on deportations—all these create volatile conditions. Political rhetoric about migration hardens, even as humanitarian need grows.
Our response must address both immediate suffering and these structural challenges. We cannot simply provide services while ignoring the systems that create displacement and vulnerability.
We have developed meaningful dialogue with European institutions, and it’s growing—but it could be much deeper and more transformative.
Where we engage: JRS Europe participates regularly in the European Parliament and European Commission forums. Our Policy and Advocacy Coordinator engages in high-level meetings on asylum policy. We sit on the Consultative Forums on Fundamental Rights of both Frontex and the EU Asylum Agency. Our country offices meet regularly with MEPs and national authorities. We submit policy papers, organize workshops, and contribute to consultation processes on key legislation like the recent Pact on Asylum and Migration.
Where there’s progress: There are receptive ears, especially in certain directorates and among some parliamentarians. There are people in Brussels who genuinely want to understand JRS’s perspective and who are troubled by the same issues we raise. Some of our advocacy positions have influenced discussions. The recognition of alternatives to detention, for example, is gaining traction—partly because organizations like JRS have documented their effectiveness and importance.
But there are profound limitations:
First, civil society’s voice is structurally marginalized in decision-making. We’re consulted, but often after major decisions have already been made. When the EU Pact was being developed, real civil society input came late in the process. We had to say “no” to a bad law rather than helping shape good policy from the beginning.
Second, there’s a fundamental misalignment of priorities. European institutions are increasingly focused on deterrence, border control, and returns—what they call “innovative solutions” to irregular migration. JRS advocates for safe and legal pathways, for hospitality-driven reception, for fundamental rights protection. These agendas can coexist, but only if protection is genuinely prioritized.
Third, voices from refugees themselves are almost entirely absent from institutional dialogues. Institutions consult with JRS; they should also directly engage with refugees and migrants. This is not charity—it’s a recognition of their expertise and their right to participate in decisions affecting their lives.
Fourth, there’s insufficient acknowledgment of structural causes. Institutions want to manage symptoms—how to process people, how to return them, how to deter them. They’re less interested in addressing why people are displaced: conflict, persecution, climate change, poverty, lack of opportunity. Any serious dialogue must address root causes.
What I would like to see improved:
I believe dialogue is possible. What’s required is the institutional humility to recognize that technical solutions alone won’t solve displacement, and the political courage to prioritize human dignity over deterrence.
Despite the difficulties, I am profoundly hopeful. And this hope is not naive—it’s grounded in what I witness daily.
First and foremost, hope comes from the refugees and migrants themselves. I’ve met mothers in Bosnia who’ve walked for months with their children, who’ve lost everything, yet who still believe in tomorrow. I’ve sat with young people Ireland who’ve been tortured, who’ve suffered unimaginable trauma, yet who trust that life can be rebuilt. Their resilience evangelizes me. Their faith—often deeper than mine—teaches me what hope really means. They’re not hoping for comfort; they’re hoping to live with dignity, to provide for their families, to contribute to society. This kind of hope is contagious.
In our Communities of Hospitality initiatives, I see Europeans choosing generosity. Families who open their homes to strangers. Volunteers who give their time week after week. Communities that choose inclusion over fear. During the Ukrainian crisis, we witnessed extraordinary solidarity across Europe—entire neighborhoods mobilizing to welcome people fleeing war. When you see this, you understand that hospitality is not foreign to European identity; it’s part of our deepest tradition.
A few weeks ago, based on our own experience, we published a book entitled ‘Ser puerta abierta’ (Being an Open Door) with my colleagues and friends Jennifer Gómez and María del Carmen de la Fuente, in which we explain how hospitality can transform our own lives and societies.
Working with 800 staff and 6,900 volunteers across 23 countries in 245 locations, I see people who’ve chosen this work despite knowing how difficult it is. They’re not there for money or prestige. They’re there because they believe in the dignity of every human being. When we gather our teams, when we share stories of transformation—a refugee who found employment and stability, a young person whose education changed their trajectory, a family that found safety—we remind each other why we do this. This shared commitment is profoundly hopeful.
Policy work can feel glacially slow and often heartbreaking. We opposed the EU Pact; it was adopted anyway. But even within the Pact, there are spaces for alternatives to detention, for legal assistance, for human rights safeguards. We’re working on implementation now, pushing European institutions to ensure compliance with fundamental rights. These aren’t the victories we wanted, but they’re spaces where we can continue advocating. Progress often looks different than we imagined.
Slowly, the narrative is shifting. More Europeans understand that migrants contribute economically, that they pay more in taxes than they receive in benefits, that diversity strengthens societies. Young people especially are rejecting the xenophobic framing of migration. When I speak at universities or with young volunteers, I sense a different spirit—a hunger for justice, a refusal to accept that things must be this way.
Ignatius teaches us that God is always at work in history. Our role isn’t to achieve perfection; it’s to be faithful to the mission. We plant seeds; we may not see the harvest. Every person accompanied, every policy influenced, every conscience formed—these matter eternally, even if we don’t see immediate results. This spiritual perspective prevents despair and grounds my hope in something deeper than political outcomes.
JRS works in 58 countries. We’re part of a worldwide movement of solidarity with the displaced. When I connect with colleagues in Africa, Asia, and America, I realize this isn’t a European issue—it’s a human reality. And it’s being met with courage and creativity across the globe. We’re not alone.
Most fundamentally, hope comes from the conviction that another Europe is possible. A Europe where human rights aren’t negotiable, where dignity is non-negotiable, where hospitality is the norm rather than the exception. This isn’t utopian thinking; it’s faith-based realism. History shows that change is possible when people commit to it. Our work at JRS is part of building that different Europe.
To European leaders:
Your decisions about refugees and migrants will define what Europe becomes. You have the power to choose hospitality or fear, inclusion or exclusion, justice or domination. I urge you: Choose to lead through moral courage, not through political convenience.
Specifically, this means:
Make safe and legal pathways to asylum a reality, not a slogan. Stop externalizing our responsibilities to countries with poor human rights records. Recognize that sound asylum policy protects human life; it doesn’t threaten it. Invest in integration frameworks that allow people to contribute to your societies. Remember that Europe’s greatest periods of prosperity and innovation have come through openness to those from different places and backgrounds.
And recognize this: The way you treat refugees reveals your deepest values. When future generations study your leadership, they will ask: What did you do when millions were displaced? Did you lock your doors, or did you open them? Did you criminalize desperation, or did you respond with compassion? Did you protect fundamental rights, or did you erode them in the name of security? The choices you make now will be your legacy.
To ordinary citizens:
You have more power than you might think. Your choices matter—from who you vote for to how you speak about migrants and refugees. I want to say: Don’t believe the fear narratives. They’re not serving you or anyone else.
The truth is: refugees are not invaders; they’re people who’ve lost everything and are trying to rebuild. Many of them are your neighbours now. Some of their children will study alongside yours. Some will become your colleagues, your friends, perhaps your family members.
What I’ve learned through JRS is that encounter changes everything. When Europeans meet migrants and refugees—really meet them, share a meal, hear their stories—compassion returns. Xenophobia thrives in distance and abstraction; humanity thrives in proximity and relationship.
So I ask you to:
Choose solidarity. Learn the actual facts about migration rather than accepting stereotypes. Support the organizations and leaders who advocate for migrants and refugee rights. If you’re in a position to welcome someone—through hosting, volunteering, or simply treating migrants and refugees with dignity—do so. These acts of individual generosity multiply into social transformation.
Recognize that you benefit from migration. Migrants and refugees contribute economically, culturally, and socially to European societies. They’re not taking from you; they’re building with you.
Hold on to your humanity in a world that often tries to make compassion seem foolish. The Ignatian tradition teaches us that we’re all made in the image of God. Every refugee is precious. Every migrant deserves dignity. When we accompany, serve and advocate for their rights, we’re caring for the best of what it means to be human.
Final remarks
This is ultimately a question about the kind of Europe—and the kind of people—we choose to be. Will we be a Europe that closes its doors to the displaced, or opens them? Will we be people who fear difference or celebrate it? Will we protect only our own, or understand that our deepest security comes from justice and solidarity?
Human mobility will not disappear. Climate change, conflict, and inequality will continue to drive people from their homes. The question isn’t whether Europe will encounter migrants and refugees—it’s how. Will it be with fear and rejection, or with the courage of hospitality?
I believe in Europe’s capacity for the latter. I see it in our volunteers, our communities, our young people. What’s needed is leadership—political and moral—that supports and encourages this capacity.
That’s where you come in—whether you’re a policymaker or a citizen. Choose hope. Choose solidarity. Choose justice. Choose to see the face of Christ in every refugee. And together, we’ll build a Europe worthy of its values and its potential.
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