A burning question gnawed at Alexandra that January morning. The woman selling small items – cookies, bread, soap, sodas, candies – on Calle San Rafael in Centro Habana, a bustling, working-class neighborhood in Havana, wondered: “Who did it?” From her spot on the sidewalk, she had a clear view of Model’s shattered shop window. Model, a store selling clothing and miscellaneous goods (a bit of cleaning products, some food), must have once been elegant. But now, as the mannequins made clear, it offered only a sad, drab assortment, a far cry from the outrageously sexy and flamboyant styles on display everywhere else.

San Rafael Street was shocked. The state-run store was already so depressing. So what did the thieves want? As it turned out, they had made off with a few bottles of oil. That explained everything. A few days later, they were found and arrested – most likely identified by one of the many cameras installed on the dilapidated walls. They were unlucky: On the night of their crime, there was electricity, a rare occurrence. All of this left Alexandra feeling even more despondent. (All names in this article have been changed.) She wanted to go out, drink some beers and dance. But everything was now out of reach, even companionship. “There’s no one left, everyone’s gone [abroad]. And people keep leaving,” she complained.

She did not have enough money for a beer, let alone to pay for a passport, a visa or a plane ticket. So she stayed on San Rafael Street. All around, apartments had been sold off, sometimes with all their contents, for paltry sums – just a few thousand dollars – money used to fund exile, often across several Latin American countries, with no hope of return. Even police officers had left, among the more than two million people who had fled Cuba in just over four years. That seemed to explain the surge in petty theft and robberies.

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