Exploring Venice: A Reflection on History and Change

Before embarking on our eastern Mediterranean cruise last month, my family and I spent a few days in Venice, Italy. It’s one of those cities that’s hard to forget. Picture this: a medieval city built on wooden stakes in a swamp, eventually becoming a powerful republic that flourished for over a millennium. It really makes you appreciate the ingenuity of people back then.

We found ourselves in St. Mark’s Square (Piazza San Marco), where, back in 1177, Holy Roman Emperor Frederick I Barbarossa knelt before Pope Alexander III to resolve a prolonged conflict between the papacy and the empire. It’s also the place where the Doge reigned from a majestic palace, a lifetime appointment without passing down any power. It was interesting to think how French Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte called it “the drawing room of Europe” after he took the city and ended the Venetian Republic in 1797.

St. Mark’s Basilica was on our list, too. This stunning cathedral was built to house the remains of St. Mark the Evangelist, supposedly smuggled from Egypt by crafty Venetian merchants who covered the body with pork to evade Muslim guards. The vast domes and intricate decorations here (and in the other cathedrals we visited) seemed to speak of a deeper faith than what you see in many modern megachurches. It’s clear these people were devoted to their beliefs and to building a civilization that generations could be proud of.

The canals were, naturally, an ever-present charm. We found ourselves stopping for photos at every turn, which (let’s be real) annoyed my teenagers and even my wife a bit. The breathtaking Byzantine and Gothic architecture alongside the tranquil waterways gives off an almost magical vibe, as if you’ve stepped back in time. There’s truly no other place like Venice.

Yet, I couldn’t shake off a feeling of sadness during our stay, especially while interacting with vendors and restaurant staff. It struck me that many of them—alongside city workers—didn’t seem to have roots in Venice or its history. They appeared to come from places like South Asia, Africa, or the Middle East.

I didn’t have to check anyone’s papers to see that many of the people selling souvenirs or serving our meals weren’t Venetian or Italian. To be fair, we did meet a few locals, and one of our memorable experiences was purchasing a painting from an Italian street artist. He was getting older, though, and I found myself wondering who would fill his shoes once he decided to hang up his brush. Would it carry the same essence if it were painted by an immigrant from somewhere else?

I can understand why so many people seek to come to the West. Life is better, after all, even for the poorest among us compared to conditions in the Third World. This isn’t about blaming them or their aspirations. Sure, there are some who might take advantage, but many are genuinely trying to contribute. Most non-Italians we met in Venice were friendly and seemed hardworking. The real issue, in my view, lies with Western leaders, who seem to lack a fundamental understanding of what it takes to sustain a civilization.

Here’s an uncomfortable truth: Every society is shaped by the people who built it. This might sound like an obvious statement, but for many, it’s not. There’s a common belief that cultures and people are interchangeable—like you could hypothetically replace the original Venetians with a different group and things would be just fine. But that’s a misleading notion.

Look at Somalia. They haven’t built cities like Venice, Rome, or London. They have created their own reality, and yet it’s quite different from what you see in more developed places. So, bringing in a significant number of migrants from such backgrounds may lead to a decline in what the city once represented.

I’m not advocating for a form of racial purity; having a diverse population can be enriching. However, there’s a point where too much change can leave a country unrecognizable. I’ve often wondered what happens when the migrant population outnumbers locals like Italians. What happens if one group becomes the majority? At what point do the original citizens fade away? Can those who replace them appreciate or care about preserving what was built?

You could apply this to anywhere in the West, really. What unfolds when the descendants of those who established a civilization vanish, leaving just the structures behind as reminders of their existence? It’s a thought that troubles me, and unless things shift dramatically, I worry we might find out.