Cultural Terrorism: When Our Art, Memory & Identity Are Under Attack.

by Richard Mudariki

Crime scene at the Musee Du Lourve (Image: Belga News Agency)

When I first heard of the brazen theft at the Louvre, the daylight break-in at the gallery housing France’s crown jewels, it struck me not simply as a spectacular “art theft” but as an act of cultural terrorism. On 19 October 2025, thieves disguised as construction workers used scaffolding to access the Galerie d’Apollon, smashed the glass cases, and stole eight priceless pieces - including jewels from the French crown - in under a few minutes. The museum’s director later admitted that parts of the building were not adequately covered by external cameras. In my January 2025 article, “Heritage in Crisis: Lessons from the Musée du Louvre for Zimbabwe,” I argued that museums are not only targets because they house valuable objects - they are attacked because they protect collective memory. The Louvre heist proved the point: those thieves did not merely steal jewels; they struck at symbols of history, royalty, national identity, and power.

And in Zimbabwe, we know this story all too well. On Tuesday 6 June 2006, the National Gallery of Zimbabwe was hit by a thief posing as a visitor. He asked to see antiques, then insisted he could not leave his bag at the reception desk. When he was allowed inside with it, he went up to the North Gallery - and finding no attendant in sight - quietly untied four traditional Shona wooden headrests (mutsago) from the wall, lifted two Makonde masks from their stands, and packed all six objects into his satchel. A sales attendant noticed him walking quickly down the ramp, and suspicion was raised - but too late. The chase that followed would have sounded fictional had it not been documented in police reports.

Stolen artefacts returned to Harare from Poland (Image: Tsvangirai Mukwazhi/AP)

A senior security guard followed him all the way to Samora Machel Avenue, only to be mistaken for a mugger by bystanders, who beat him while the real thief escaped into a taxi.

What followed was international. According to the Herald article published in October 2013, the National Gallery contacted the National Museums and Monuments of Zimbabwe, who referred them to Ton Cremers of the Museum Security Network. Photos were posted online. Months passed. Then the call came: the stolen objects had appeared in Poland. The FBI stepped in. Agent Robert Wittman - famous for recovering stolen cultural property - coordinated a sting operation. The thief himself was found selling the artefacts from Europe. He was arrested, tried, and jailed. The artefacts were eventually returned to Zimbabwe through the embassy in Berlin. That story taught us something crucial: our security was weak, and our heritage holds immense global value - enough to trigger international law enforcement, and enough to motivate a thief to risk everything.

Cultural terrorism, however, did not start in the modern era. In the colonial period, thousands of African cultural objects were systematically looted, including the soapstone Zimbabwe Birds taken from Great Zimbabwe itself. These were not random trophies. They were sacred symbols of political authority, memory, and identity - deliberately removed to weaken a culture at its core. The Zimbabwe Bird is now our national emblem, yet for decades most of the originals sat in foreign institutions. I have been advocating for the return of the only other known soapstone bird sitting at Groote Schuur in Cape Town, be be returned to Zimbabwe and be displayed at the Great Zimbabwe Museum.

This is why I use the term cultural terrorism. It is not romantic, nor metaphorical. It is a deliberate act of violence against memory, identity, and reverence. When the Louvre jewels were stolen, a French official called it “an attack on heritage that we cherish because it is our history.” We in Zimbabwe felt that exact pain when our birds were stolen, when our gallery was looted, when our sacred objects were trafficked through Europe under false names. The loss is not merely financial. It is spiritual. It is cultural. It is communal.

And the cultural terrorists - whether colonial agents or modern criminals - always know one thing: the people who house these objects are the people who value them most. Museums become targets because they are the last line of defence. They are where identity is held, where history is protected, where meaning is curated and preserved. Thieves know that if they steal what we love, we may negotiate, we may pay, we may fold.

Which is why, as I wrote earlier this year, the message for Zimbabwe Government is urgent. If we want to protect our heritage, we must treat it not as decoration, but as national infrastructure. Our museums need the same seriousness we give to war -liberation sites, archives and national records. We must fund security, train staff, digitise collections, tighten protocol, document everything, and create international partnerships that are prepared before - not after - crisis.

Because the next threat may not involve scaffolding or smashed glass. It may be online. It may be an insider. It may be disguised as scholarship, restoration, “temporary custodianship,” or “donation.” Cultural terrorism evolves. So must we.

The Louvre heist, the stolen mutsago and Makonde masks, the looted Zimbabwe Birds - these are not disconnected stories. They are chapters in the same narrative: a global struggle over identity, power, memory, and value. And whether we are artists, curators, academics, collectors, or citizens, we are all custodians in that struggle - guardians not only of objects, but of history, dignity, and the cultural soul of a people.

Richard Mudariki is an artist and cultural producer. He holds a BA Honours in Cultural Heritage Management and Museology from Midlands State University.