Art theft is one of those haute culture crimes that lends itself to cinematic intrigue – an elaborately planned heist, an international connection and guys in black threads and balaclavas evading laser beams to get their paws on priceless treasure. In the movies, however, art theft is rarely portrayed as a military operation undertaken by foot soldiers and military machines, with the local custodians of the art standing haplessly by as their treasure is toted away.

Few Ethiopians are old enough to remember when Mussolini’s men took off with a 79-foot granite obelisk, a 3,000 year old symbol of the grandeur of Ethiopia. That’s right, back when Romans weren’t even Romans yet, wandering around in their Etruscan haze, Ethiopia was already building giant obelisks, reaching to the sky. The obelisk was taken back to Italy and erected in Rome to make up for the absence of ancient artifacts throughout the entire peninsula.

No one in Ethiopia is old enough to recall when British soldiers sacked Maqdala, and carried back with them hundreds of manuscripts, gold crowns, chalices and a sacred tabot, a replica of the Ark of the Covenant.

One of the holiest of holies in the faith of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, the tabot was taken back to the British Isles and stored in a church in Scotland, where it was `discovered’ in December. Ironic that one of the most sacred artifacts of a 2,000-year-old faith would be lost in a Reformation-era church.

Two of the most important symbols of Ethiopian history and faith; the tallest obelisk and the most sacred tabot, taken away and set up in Europe. Two very different responses came from foreign governments when Ethiopia pressed for the artifacts’ return.

In the case of the sacred tabot, once it was `discovered’ in a Scottish church, the British government expediently complied with Ethiopia’s request to return the tabot to Trinity Cathedral in Addis Ababa.

The gold-covered tabot, which is so sacred it can be only seen by priests, was wrapped in velvet and returned to the Ethiopian capital, welcomed by hundreds of thousands of people in throngs along the route from the airport to the cathedral.

The obelisk has been erected in Rome, at a roundabout near the Coliseum. According to the Italian minister for art and culture, the obelisk should not be returned to Ethiopia, because it has become a naturalized Italian and in its advanced age it would not be safe to move. As if it was safe to move 65 years ago from Axum, Ethiopia, all the way back to Rome. As if the obelisk will be safe from deterioration and worse if it is in the midst of Roman motorists. As if Italy is anxious to naturalize more citizens; just ask the Albanians who get turned away from Italian ports on the Adriatic.

Rather than returning an artifact they have flaunted in the capital for more than six decades, the Italians treat their loot as a symbol of their greatness, an artifact-come-lately in the home of Da Vinci, Michelangelo, the Roman Catholic Church and the Roman Empire. Not only is the obelisk patently un-Italian, it is in the center of one of the most saturated centers of art in the world.

No doubt African art would be an enriching addition in Rome, but not if the pieces are torn away from their historical and cultural context.

What recourse does Ethiopia have with regard to its stolen treasures? Could mediation through the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization provide an opportunity to assure outsiders that Ethiopia is an able curator for its own art? UNESCO is already actively pursuing a program to restore the ancient Buddhas that were destroyed by the Taliban during their final months of rule in Afghanistan.

If the obelisk is ever returned to its home, it would be the subject of a great art heist film – thousands of Ethiopians sneaking to a Roman piazza at three in the morning and carting the obelisk back to its rightful home.

Rachel Faber Machacha is a graduate student in international development studies from Emmetsburg.