Is Pope Francis I's past enough to damn him?

Pope Francis flourished, occupying a prominent position in the Argentine church, at a time when its leaders worked hand in glove with one of the most brutal dictatorships of the 20th century. Is that enough to damn him?

When Jorge Mario Bergoglio stepped onto the Vatican balcony as the new pope Francis yesterday evening, the world was instantly charmed by his gentle, unassuming manner and moved by anecdotes about his love of, and identification with, the poor. To many the first Latin American and the first Jesuit to become Pope looks like a breath of fresh air. While almost as old as Pope Benedict was when he was elected, he seems more approachable and down to earth than his austerely professorial predecessor; and while his views on sexual morality are as conservative as one might expect, he also looks set to prioritise questions of social justice over ones of ecclesiastical discipline. Even name Francis seems to point to a new humility – already his watchword – in the Catholoic Church.

But not everyone has given the new pontiff an unreserved welcome. In Argentina he is a divisive figure, not just because of his outspoken views on subjects such as gay marriage but, more pointedly, because of continuing questions over his and the church's role during the dark years of the late 1970s.

It was a time when a military dictatorship responsible for the abduction, torture and murder of many thousands of its own citizens looked to the Catholic Church for moral legitimacy. A time when the murderous General Jorge Videla cultivated a pious image and claimed to be restoring "Christian morals and values" to the nation, and when – according to the late Christopher Hitchens – the papal nuncio was a regular tennis partner of Admiral Emilio Massero, the regime's torturer in chief.

Finally brought to justice thirty years later, an unrepentent Videla described his trial as "one more act of service to the Lord our Father and to the country."

"It's appalling," the anthropologist Laura Agustín told me yesterday on hearing the news of Bergoglio's elevation. "Seeing his face takes me right back to a nightmare."

The case against Bergoglio is both general and particular. As leader of the church in Argentina since 1997, he stands accused of reluctance to properly face up to Catholic complicity with the regime. He twice invoked legal privilege to avoid testifying in cases resulting from the "Dirty War" of the 1970s. When he finally did give evidence in 2010, some observers found his testimony evasive and less than helpful. It wasn't until late last year that Argentina's bishops issued a collective apology in for the church's past failure to stand up to the dictatorship, and even then failed to satisfy critics. The statement acknowledged the role of some senior clerics in supporting the military junta, but fell short of accepting institutional responsibility for the church and had harsh words for Catholics who supported violent resistance to the dictatorship.

Such a belated and tentative acknowledgement of wrongdoing smacks rather of the "too little, too late" approach that has cost the Catholic Church credibility in its response to other scandals of recent years, notably the sexual abuse of children by priests. It hardly suggests that the new pope will be in a hurry to tackle the church's problems head on.

Bergoglio's eventual mea culpa went nowhere near as far as a statement offered by another priest at the 2007 trial of Fr Christian von Wernich, a former prison chaplain who was convicted of direct complicity in seven murders, 42 abductions and 31 cases of torture. On that occasion, Rubén Capitanio told the court that the church had been "scandalously close to the dictatorship. . . to a sinful degree." The church was "like a mother that did not look out for her children," he went on. "It did not kill anybody, but it did not save anybody either."

Argentina was not unique in Latin America for coming under military rule during the 1970s, but the role played by the Catholic church in supporting the regime was unusual. As in Spain under Franco, patriotism and Catholicism came to be closely linked in Argentina. There are even suggestions that bishops gave their blessing to General Jorge Videla and his fellow generals prior to the military coup of March 24th 1976. It's a matter of record that on the day of the coup, the then Archbishop of Buenos Aires Adolfo Tortolo emerged from a meeting with the junta to urge his fellow citizens to cooperate "in a positive way" with the new government. He later went out of his way to deny that any human rights abuses were being committed in Argentina.

How much did senior clerics actually know about what was going on? According to the investigative journalist Horacio Verbitsky, who is among the new pope's leading critics, declassified documents reveal that a meeting of bishops in May 1976 heard chilling details of persecution, arbitrary arrest and even torture, but nevertheless voted by a majority to issue a statement calling for understanding towards the military government. The bishops even justified human rights abuses by the regime, stating that "it was wrong to insist that the security agencies act "with the chemical purity of peacetime, while blood runs every day."

As leader of the Jesuit order in Argentina at the time of the coup, Jorge Bergoglio was in a tricky position. He never publicly supported the regime. Speaking out against it, meanwhile, would have carried real dangers: several priests, and two bishops, were among the victims of the Dirty War. But he is accused of more than simply keeping his head down while others sacrificed theirs. The most serious allegation, which formed the basis of a formal criminal complaint in 2005, is that he knew about and failed to prevent the abduction and torture of two fellow Jesuit priests.

The priests, Orlando Yokio and Francisco Jalics, had come under suspicion for their work in the Bajo Flores slum district and for their association with a group of activists that included Monica Mignone, daughter of a prominent lawyer, all of whom later disappeared into the regime's dungeons. The two Jesuits' work, and the liberation theology that inspired it, also attracted the critical attention of their superiors in the church, notably Bergoglio himself, who reportedly offered them a choice between leaving the slum or leaving their priestly ministry. Their licence to minister was withdrawn by the then archbishop a week before they were seized.

According to Verbitsky, whose book The Silence detailed the relationship between church and state in that dark period, the military took the church's action as a green light to have them arrested. What is undoubtedly the case is that there was a certain community of interest between the anti-communism of the military regime and the Church hierarchy's dislike of liberation theology.

Both men were released in October 1976 after five months of interrogation and torture in the notorious Navy Mechanics School, ESMA (where Fr Wernach served as chaplain). In The Jesuit, a collection of conversations between Bergoglia and the writer Sergio Rubin, it is claimed that, far from denouncing Yorio and Jalics, Bergoglio warned the two priests of the danger they were in and later intervened behind the scenes to secure their release. But this is contested. Verbitsky quotes Yorio (who died in 2000) as telling him explicitly that "Bergoglio failed to warn us of danger waiting to happen" and that "I have no reason to think he did something for our freedom, but rather the opposite".

Verbitsky also spoke to Monica Mignone's mother Angelica, who asserted that the two priests "were freed by the efforts of Emilio Mignone and the intercession of the Vatican, not by the actions of Bergoglio, who betrayed them". Another of his interviewees, Yorio's brother Rodolfo, described Bergoglio as "a politician who loves power." Much the same comment, seemingly at odds with the new Pope's modest demeanour, was made last night on Argentine radio by Eduardo de la Serna, coordinator of a left-wing group of priests, who described him as "a man of power [who] knows how position himself among powerful people."

The 2005 complaint did not, in the end, lead to charges being laid against Cardinal Bergoglio, and the truth may never be known. He has strenuously denied any wrongdoing, and has dismissed the allegations as "old slander." That Yurio and Jalics believed that Bergoglio had betrayed them does not of course mean that he did, nor were they in a position to know what private action Bergoglio might have taken on their behalf.

In some ways, the controversy surrounding the new pope recalls that over Pope Pius XII, accused by his critics of not speaking out against the Nazis, while his defenders counter that he did what he could behind the scenes to help individual victims. Bergolgio's own faults may have amounted to little more than naivety and holiness: the very humility that was so widely and instantly acclaimed when he stepped onto the Vatican balcony last night. Perhaps the most damning thing that can be said about him is that he survived, and flourished, occupying a prominent position in the Argentine church at a time when its leaders worked hand in glove with one of the most brutal dictatorships of the 20th century.

The Pope appears on Colombian newspapers. Photograph: Getty Images
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A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear