When news broke that thieves disguised as construction workers stole jewels from the Louvre Museum on Sunday morning, my first reaction was sadness. The theft, taking less than seven minutes, resulted in the loss of multiple “inestimable” items, including necklaces, earrings and diadems, according to the Paris Prosecutor’s Office.
Four people broke into the museum before it opened, shattered two display cases and took jewelry once belonging to Napoleon Bonaparte and his family. Crowns, earrings and necklaces were gone before most of Paris, France, had even woken up.
It reads like a movie plot. The speed, the planning, the disguises, but behind the headlines is a quieter truth: France has lost a piece of its history. These jewels were not just valuable because of their materials; they carried centuries of stories. The hands that made them, the historical figures who wore them and the moments they witnessed; all of that history is now fractured.
These objects were witnesses as each piece had belonged to people who shaped France, survived political upheaval and carried stories of triumph, grief and celebration. They had been in the hands of emperors and empresses and seen moments we can only imagine. That is what makes this theft more than a news story; it is a disappearance of human connection to the past.
It’s tempting for the media to romanticize heists. Stories focus on cleverness, speed and audacity, highlighting criminals as audacious figures who outsmart institutions. However, theft of cultural objects is not clever; it’s erasure. The value of these jewels came not only from the emerald or gemstones but from the history they embodied and the lives they touched.
Journalists have a responsibility to report these events with perspective, emphasizing the cultural loss rather than the excitement of the crime. How we tell these stories shapes public perception, and glamorizing the thieves risks turning history itself into entertainment.
The Louvre heist is far from unique. In 1990, thieves posing as Boston police officers stole “The Concert,” a Johannes Vermeer masterpiece dating back to 1665, from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, along with 12 other artworks. For 81 minutes, they cut paintings from frames, bound guards with duct tape and vanished with treasures estimated at half a billion dollars. “The Concert” painting has never been recovered. Visitors today see its empty frame, a reminder this piece of art history is lost to thieves, not time.
Both the Louvre jewels and Vermeer’s stolen painting share a lesson: these objects carry more than beauty or wealth. They are connections to the lives of those who created and owned them, to the events they witnessed and to the stories they preserve. When stolen, damaged or destroyed, part of that connection disappears, and empty display cases serve as a visible reminder of what cannot be replaced.
Europe remains a hotspot for cultural theft. According to Statista’s Florian Zandt, nearly 23,000 cultural objects were reported stolen across 74 countries in 2021, with 78% coming from European nations. Coins, manuscripts, sculptures and paintings vanish each year, and each loss erases a piece of collective human memory.
The Louvre heist is part of that larger pattern. Crowns and emerald earrings once worn by queens and empresses have been removed from history. Authorities will try to recover them, but the theft has already altered their story. For the media, this is a reminder that reporting should honor what has been lost, not celebrate those who took it. These objects survived centuries of war, revolution and political change. To be stolen is not thrilling or romantic; it’s a cultural loss, and how we tell that story matters.
Abby Waechter is a senior studying strategic communication at Ohio University. Please note the views and opinions of the columnists do not reflect those of The Post. Have something to say? Email Abby at aw087421@ohio.edu.
