On October 19, 2025, the Louvre Museum in Paris—renowned for its glittering galleries and centuries-old treasures—became the scene of a high-profile heist. Thieves struck the Apollo Gallery, making off with a cache of crown jewels, including tiaras, necklaces, and brooches that once adorned some of France’s most illustrious 19th-century royals: Marie-Amélie, Queen Hortense, Empress Marie-Louise of Austria, and Empress Eugénie. As French police race to recover the stolen gems, a deeper, more uncomfortable question has seized the public imagination: Where did these jewels actually come from, and at what cost?
According to AP, the artefacts themselves were unmistakably French in their craftsmanship, painstakingly fashioned by elite Parisian ateliers. But the gems—those dazzling sapphires, diamonds, pearls, and emeralds—had journeys that began far from Paris, tracing routes through the shadows of France’s colonial empire. Researchers quickly mapped the likely origins: sapphires from Ceylon (now Sri Lanka), diamonds from India and Brazil, pearls from the Persian Gulf and Indian Ocean, and emeralds from Colombia. The theft, while criminal by any measure, has complicated the public’s understanding of what was truly lost.
“There is obviously no excuse for theft,” said Emiline C.H. Smith, a criminologist at the University of Glasgow who specializes in heritage crime, in remarks reported by AP. “But many of these objects are entangled with violent, exploitative, colonial histories.” The provenance of these gems, Smith and other experts argue, is inseparable from the imperial networks that once funneled wealth, labor, and even slavery into European prestige. The paperwork of empire might have made such transactions legal at the time, but, as Smith noted, legality and ethics are not always aligned—especially when viewed through the lens of contemporary values.
The Louvre’s own catalog, for example, describes the stolen diadem of Queen Marie-Amélie as set with “Ceylon sapphires” in their natural, unheated state, bordered with diamonds in gold. Yet, it offers scant detail about who mined these stones, how they were transported, or under what terms they were acquired. This lack of transparency is, according to Smith, likely no accident. Western museums, she said, sometimes “avoid spotlighting uncomfortable acquisition histories.”
Pascal Blanchard, a historian focused on France’s colonial past, draws a clear distinction between craftsmanship and supply. “The jewels were made in France by French artisans,” he told AP. “But many stones came via colonial circuits and were products of colonial production.” These gems, Blanchard explained, were traded “under the legal conditions … of the time,” yet those conditions were shaped by empires that siphoned wealth from Africa, Asia, and South America.
The ongoing investigation into the heist has already led to the charging of suspects, but authorities remain deeply concerned about the fate of the jewels. Because these pieces are so famous and recognizable, selling them intact would be nearly impossible. Instead, investigators fear the treasures might be broken up or melted down, their individual stones and metals monetized in less traceable ways. “They are too famous to sell as they are, but easy to monetize for metal and stones,” noted AP.
Yet, as the search for the missing jewels continues, the heist has ignited a broader debate about the role of museums like the Louvre in confronting the colonial histories embedded in their collections. Critics have long argued that national outcry over the loss of such treasures should be matched by a reckoning with how imperial France acquired the raw materials later set in gold by court jewelers. As AP observed, provenance isn’t always a neutral ledger; it can be a record of exploitation and power imbalances.
This conversation is not unique to France. The story of the Koh-i-Noor diamond, now set in the Queen Mother’s crown at the Tower of London, is perhaps the best-known flashpoint in the global debate over colonial-era treasures. India has repeatedly pressed the UK for its return, arguing the 106-carat diamond—likely originating in India’s Golconda diamond belt—was taken “under the shadow of conquest.” British officials, meanwhile, maintain it was a “lawful” imperial gift. The dispute, as AP points out, is both political and moral, and it remains unresolved.
France’s own approach to restitution has been halting and complicated by legal and institutional barriers. President Emmanuel Macron’s pledge to return parts of Africa’s heritage resulted in a new law enabling the return of 26 royal treasures to Benin and additional items to Senegal. Madagascar also recovered the crown of Queen Ranavalona III through a specific process. Still, critics say that restitution is structurally blocked: French law prohibits the removal of state-held objects unless parliament makes a special exception, and risk-averse museums keep the rest behind glass. Under former Louvre chief Jean-Luc Martinez, the museum’s narrow definition of what counts as “looted”—and its demand for near-legal levels of proof—created a chilling effect on restitution claims, even as the museum publicly praised transparency.
The Louvre itself has remained silent in the wake of the theft, declining to comment when contacted by AP. But the pressure is mounting. Erin Thompson, an art-crime scholar based in New York, insists that asking visitors to marvel at artifacts like the French crown jewels without understanding their social history is fundamentally dishonest. A truly decolonized approach, she argues, would name the origin of such stones, describe how the trade worked, identify who profited and who paid, and share authorship with the communities from which the materials came.
Egyptian archaeologist Monica Hanna sees the current outcry as deeply ironic. “Yes, the irony is profound,” she said of the Louvre theft, “and it’s central to the conversation about restitution.” Hanna expects the heist will trigger further action on restitutions across Western museums and intensify the debate about transparency. At a minimum, she and other experts believe museums should adopt plain-spoken labels and wall texts that acknowledge where objects came from, how they moved, and at whose expense. This would mean publishing what is known, admitting what isn’t, and inviting contested histories into the gallery—even when they cloud the shine.
Some offer a practical path forward. “Tell the honest and complete story,” said Dutch restitution specialist Jos van Beurden. “Open the windows, not for thieves, but for fresh air.” As the Louvre and other museums around the world reckon with the legacies of their collections, the hope is that greater transparency and honesty will ultimately prove more valuable than any crown jewel.
