Upon traveling to Versailles, I am beyond ecstatic. There is so much to see, so much gold, so much beauty. When we arrived, I was instantly overwhelmed, but in the best way. We made a game plan to go through the rooms efficiently. But the sheer scale of it all made that nearly impossible. A group of four of my peers went ahead of me, and a group of four followed behind. I drifted in between, walking through room after room in awe. Each space was dripping in elegance, the gorgeous furniture, intricate architecture, dazzling chandeliers, and impossibly high ceilings with sculptures at the top. It was so easy to imagine what a life might have been here, centuries ago.
If I could time-travel, I'd want to attend a party at Versailles. I can picture it perfectly: thousands of candles flicker against gilded walls, elegant party goers in powdered wigs, silk, lipstick, and far too much blush. Servers would pass me with trays of hors d'oeuvres, chocolate, and champagne. Louis himself might even show me his jewels, medals, or the Mona Lisa. The next day, I'd wander around the gardens, next to the queen, reading a book while my kids play hide-and-seek. Around every corner is a new sculpture. A hidden path. A fountain I hadn't noticed before. I could explore for years and still discover new places daily. On the surface level, it's such a dream.
I squeeze my way through the crowds. I'm alone now, and a bit claustrophobic. I pass the king's bedchamber, marveling at the space, when I overhear a tour guide casually mention that Louis XVI only slept in that bed three times. Three. Times. In 18 years. I pause. How could something so grand be used so little? Was it all for show? I felt deceived. She continues, saying he had a room solely for his dogs, and also had 413 beds around France. Holy. That's when it really hits me. All this sheer beauty had to come at the cost of extreme inequality throughout France.
If I were to time-travel, I probably wouldn't be a guest at one of those parties. Statistically, I would be a peasant, like 80% of people in pre-revolutionary France. I'd be living in a miserable mud cabin, working on someone else's land, paying 50% of my earnings to the landowner, and some in taxes to the government and church. I would most likely be starving, while the churches and royalty dined in excess.
Victor Hugo captured this so well in Les Misérables. Although it takes place during the June Rebellion of 1832, after the French Revolution of 1789, the dynamics and society feel eerily similar. Fantine, once cheerful and full of life, is discarded by society so harshly that she's forced to sell her hair, teeth, and eventually her body. Just to survive. And then there's Gavroche—one of my favorites. A street-smart, scrappy boy who's homeless and forgotten, yet is somehow more attuned to justice than the adults around him. Sadly, both of them end up dead. Their lives are crushed under a system too broken to protect the innocent.
If I were Gavorache, and I saw the kind of inequality I saw at Versailles, I'd be angry too. I'd build a barricade. I would fight. I walked through the Versailles gardens for a few hours, and didn't even see the whole thing. The extensive land, the numerous gold, the scale of it all seemed to be way too much.
It stopped and made me wonder: how much is too much? What brings a country to the edge?
When I look at the U.S. today, the cracks are hard to ignore. The top 1% owns as much as the bottom 90%. I can hike through Malibu in the morning and pass homes worth hundreds of millions, then spend the afternoon helping my roommates' club by handing out water on Skid Row. The inequality is so apparent. But it's not just economic. Trust in the media, government, and elections is plummeting. Elon Musk poured $260 million into the 2024 election to spread disinformation favorable to Republicans and critical of Democrats. Bezos literally rented out Venice for his wedding. A whole city. It makes sense that only 4% of U.S. adults say the system is working extremely or very well. With the elite living in a different world entirely, it feels less like a democracy and more like we are puppets in their performance.
Oval office before (right) and after (left) Trump took office
And now, two days ago, U.S. President Donald Trump revealed his plan for a $200 million addition to the White House. He has already blinged out the White House in gold, and now he wants to build a new ballroom. The design? Inspired by the Louis XIV room at Mar-a-Lago. Versailles called and they want their ballrooms back. The entire thing feels satire. While PBS funding is slashed and a billion dollars is cut in cancer research, we’re building gold-plated echoes of the French monarchy. I think Marie Antoinette would love Mar-a-Lago. The optics of spending hundreds of millions of dollars on presidential luxury echo the very detachment that once ignited revolution in France. It's not subtle. It's gold-plated foreshadowing.
I left Versailles feeling conflicted. I stood where the Treaty of Versailles was signed. Such an important treaty. I was dazzled by the chandeliers and the luxurious gardens, but unsettled by what they represent. A warning. The history that tends to repeat when no one listens.
Versailles reminded me that every society has a breaking point. When the elite grow more powerful and stop seeing those at the bottom, something eventually snaps. But if revolution comes, here or anywhere, we need to learn from Versailles. Bloodshed to this luxury is not the answer. I hope it's born of resistance rooted in empathy. I hope it looks like Gandhi, leading a country to freedom using non-violent civil disobedience. Let us choose unity and empathy over violence and revenge. More voices raised, fewer lives lost.
We've already seen what can happen. We would be foolish not to learn from it.