"Who am I to judge?" – A Gentle Rebellion

    "If someone is gay and he searches for the Lord and has good will, who am I to judge?"
    (Pope Francis)

This was the first time a Catholic Pope publicly spoke about homosexuality with compassion instead of condemnation.

While this statement did not change the Church's doctrine, it opened up a new approach: one of humanity and dialogue, of understanding instead of judging. It extended far beyond questions of sexuality, becoming a universal declaration of humility, empathy, and nonjudgment.
It was a message urgently needed in an age of division, digital outrage, and snap judgments across social media, mainstream news, and daily life.

Five simple words  "Who am I to judge?"  spoken softly by Pope Francis in 2013, echoing loudly through a world so eager to label, divide, and exclude.

He wasn't issuing a doctrinal decree. He wasn't rewriting theology.
He was reminding us with heartfelt humility that before we speak about others, we must first pause and see them not through the lens of law, but through the eyes of love.

Judgment comes easily in a world obsessed with image, perfection, and control. We scroll, we glance, we conclude.
But this question invites the opposite: to stop, reflect, and recognize the dignity in stories we know nothing about.

This question becomes even more essential for artists, photographers, and emotionally sensitive souls.
Each time we lift the camera, we choose intention and not just light and composition.
Do we shoot to expose, or to understand? To catch flaws, or to honor the truth?

And ironically, in photography, judgment often comes from within.
Photographers judge other photographers harshly and impulsively. Criticism, comparisons, and sarcasm flood in quicker than light, not to help but to prove superiority.
We call this the envy of photography, where ego replaces vision, and competition outshines compassion.

But photography is not a race. Every frame is a journey.
And every person behind the lens brings their story, timing, and reason.

The photographer is not a judge.
They are the keeper of light to reveal, not to convict.

In the age of social media, where everyone holds a microphone, "Who am I to judge?" becomes even more vital.
One careless post on Facebook can trigger a cascade of comments  ridicule, assumptions, public shaming.
Crowds join in with cruel momentum, using words to destroy a person, not with weapons, but with apathy disguised as moral correctness.

In such a world, silence is not indifference  it is sometimes the deepest form of kindness.

"Who am I to judge?" is not just a phrase for the religious
It is for all of us.

It is a quiet rebellion against quick condemnation.
A whisper strong enough to dissolve arrogance.
And perhaps in that silence, we don't just see others more clearly
We start to see ourselves.

    When we stop judging, we begin to understand.
    And where there is understanding, there is always the beginning of love.

“Who am I to judge?”  a gentle reminder for us all.