Paris has always been a city of grandeur and spectacle, but in October 2025, France found itself at the center of a storm that was as much about its politics as its pride. In a span of just days, the nation witnessed a brazen heist at the Louvre Museum, political turbulence in the highest offices, and mounting public shame—an atmosphere that many now describe as the twilight of an era under President Emmanuel Macron.
On Sunday, October 19, 2025, two burglars executed what can only be described as an audacious, eight-minute robbery at the Louvre, the world’s most visited museum and the very embodiment of French history and culture. According to The New York Times, the thieves used a truck-mounted ladder—commonly seen in Paris for moving furniture—a few glass-breaking machine tools, and a hefty dose of nerve to slip into the museum’s gilded Galerie d’Apollon. Their target: eight crown jewels, including treasures that once belonged to two French queens and two empresses, valued at over $100 million. The burglars’ swift escape left French pride battered and the world in disbelief.
For many, the Louvre is more than a museum. It’s a symbol of France’s restless quest for greatness, a place nearly sacred, drawing almost nine million visitors in 2024 alone. To violate it with such ease, as The New York Times reported, felt like a national humiliation, especially at a time when France has seen five governments in just two years. Aurélie Filippetti, a former culture minister, captured the prevailing sentiment: “The burglary has felt like a profound violence, an expression of national disarray and of the degradation of the state.”
The aftermath only deepened the sense of malaise. While several suspects were quickly arrested—one at Roissy-Charles de Gaulle Airport, north of Paris, as he tried to leave the country—the Paris prosecutor’s office lamented the “premature disclosure” of these arrests, warning that it could compromise the ongoing investigation. Meanwhile, the Louvre’s own vulnerabilities were laid bare: the broken window was hastily covered with a piece of wood, and the only exterior camera on that wing had been pointed the wrong way, as museum director Laurence des Cars admitted to senators in a heated hearing.
Rachida Dati, the conservative culture minister and close ally of former president Nicolas Sarkozy (himself recently consigned to a prison cell), insisted there was “no failure of security mechanisms.” Yet, a leaked report from France’s supreme audit institution painted a damning picture of underinvestment, outdated security cameras, and delays in modernizing the Louvre’s defenses. Ms. des Cars offered her resignation, but both Dati and Macron refused it, circling the wagons as public outrage simmered.
This episode of national embarrassment unfolded against a backdrop of political upheaval. France’s government has been in a state of flux, with the prime minister and interior minister who agreed to new tactics on border security both replaced since the summer. In the midst of this, British Prime Minister Keir Starmer prepared to press President Macron to recommit to plans for intercepting migrants in French waters—an initiative once hailed as a “game changer” at a summit in July 2025. According to The Daily Mail, Downing Street insisted these plans were still on track, despite reports they’d been shelved due to French political turmoil and opposition from police unions.
Martin Hewitt, the UK government’s border security commander, openly expressed his frustration to Members of Parliament, saying it was “frustrating” that the new arrangements had not yet been implemented by the French. French police unions, for their part, raised concerns about the safety risks to officers tasked with intercepting small boats on the water—a job that could put lives at risk. The political instability in Paris, where governments have come and gone with dizzying speed, has only complicated efforts to coordinate cross-Channel security.
Meanwhile, the British government pressed ahead with its own deterrence measures. Deputy Prime Minister David Lammy pointed to the recent detention of an Iranian man who returned to the UK on a dinghy after being deported as evidence of progress. Children’s minister Josh MacAlister told Times Radio, “The message is really clear from the Government—if you come here illegally and you cross, as we scale up this French returns agreement, you will be deported. You will go back to France. The money you’ve spent will be wasted. And if you do it again and again, you will be returned again and again.” Yet critics scoffed, arguing that such episodes undermined claims that the scheme was an effective deterrent.
Back in Paris, the mood was one of introspection and, increasingly, despair. A recent survey cited by L’Opinion found that 53 percent of French people felt ashamed of their country, up from 38 percent in January. Optimism, always a rare commodity in France, seemed in even shorter supply. The Louvre, ironically, was the place Macron chose eight years ago to celebrate his first electoral victory—now, it was the scene of a national embarrassment, its broken window a metaphor for a presidency at its lowest ebb. Macron’s popularity has plunged to just 14 percent, according to a poll by Elabe published in Les Echos.
In response to the crisis, Macron unveiled a nearly $600 million “Louvre New Renaissance” project, which includes moving the Mona Lisa to a new exhibition space with its own ticket, relocating the main entrance, and spending about $93 million on improved security. But former culture minister Filippetti dismissed the plan as a “bling-bling commercial operation,” arguing, “You don’t isolate a masterpiece like the Mona Lisa and put it to one side so that people can take selfies and leave after paying a premium.” She suggested that basic repairs and security upgrades should come first.
Despite the barrage of criticism, Macron can still point to some successes. He presided over a highly successful Paris Olympics, steered France through the Covid-19 crisis, and made the country attractive to foreign investment. His vision for a stronger, more independent Europe remains influential. Yet, with public debt and deficits mounting, government instability, and the political center weakened, many French citizens have lost faith in their leaders. The Louvre, created after the 1789 revolution that toppled the monarchy, now finds itself at the center of a new kind of upheaval—the theft of the jewels of France’s post-revolutionary royalty.
As Lauric Czeryba, a student of industrial design, gazed up at the Louvre’s battered facade, he summed up the prevailing mood: “It’s chaos.” His girlfriend, Léane Lacroix, added, “Nobody can agree on anything, so we don’t advance.” The couple is now considering a move to Denmark—a telling sign of the nation’s malaise.
In a country where history is never far from the present, the events of October 2025 have left France at a crossroads. Whether the nation can recover its confidence, restore its pride, and chart a new course remains to be seen. But if the Louvre’s battered crown jewels are any indication, the task ahead will require more than just audacity—it will demand genuine renewal.