A Cuban recounts a violent cell phone robbery in Havana and shares his experience with the police

The Cuban Javier Bobadilla shared a harrowing account this Saturday that highlights not only the impact of common crime but also the troubling state of security institutions in Cuba.

After being assaulted in the early hours of Thursday into Friday, Bobadilla described not only the theft of his phone but also his experience at the police station.

In that place, despite his complaint, he encountered a situation that reveals the deplorable conditions of the police, including a lack of resources, poorly maintained patrol cars, and low salaries, which has led to a wave of resignations within the police ranks.

Through his testimony, he emphasizes the authorities' inability to combat the rising wave of thefts and his frustration at realizing that recovering his phone through traditional methods is nearly impossible.

Additionally, it highlights the dynamics of a decaying society, where the collapse of security institutions could lead to the control of organized gangs.

Finally, he recounts his encounter with a police colonel, who showed particular interest in the case, indicating that his situation might be connected to something more than just a simple theft.

Here is their full testimony:

In the early hours from Thursday to Friday, I was mugged and my phone was stolen. As you already know, they succeeded.

The story itself is quite uninteresting. Early in the morning, I parked my motorcycle, went out, turned a corner, walked 20 meters, and then someone grabbed me from behind—hit me, hit me, block, scream, an attempt to cover my mouth, two guys running down the street. I got up from the ground bleeding from my nose, and without my phone.

Seconds. If an assault takes half a minute, then something has gone irreparably wrong, and this, painful as it is for me to say, went well. Some people have been attacked first so that their phone can be taken more easily.

Regarding the authors of the incident, I neither have a conspiracy mindset nor dismiss remote possibilities. However, Security has had my phone in their hands several times. I have always handed it over willingly, knowing that the iPhone is virtually tamper-proof. After a couple of times, they lost interest. Anyone who thinks that there is any technology in Cuba capable of unlocking an iPhone is watching too many hacker movies, and those who believe it can be programmed at UCI have likely never set foot there. For those more knowledgeable on the subject, I’d like to remind you that the license for Pegasus must be approved by the Israeli Minister of Defense, which I find far more questionable than the idea of programming it at UCI.

My phone also continuously shares its location with several people. The next day, I knew where I was.

Don't you want me to write anymore? You could have just given me a couple of good hits and taken away my phone for appearances' sake. Easy. Even easier, you could have turned off my data and the Nauta Hogar at Etecsa.

This was something even worse. This was the decline of society.

In the afternoon, I head to the police station. At the Zanja station, they tell me about a surge in phone thefts. The news on social media reports another wave, this time of motorcycle thefts. There’s no gasoline for the patrol cars. The officers complain about their salaries, which are barely enough to get by. For those living in a shelter, life is particularly miserable. Living in the police shelter is somewhat better than being in jail. They talk to me about drugs and the things addicts do. They also express frustrations about the penalties for violent crimes, which they find to be minimal. Many of them are requesting transfers to pursue other job opportunities.

The truck creaks when it accelerates. It might have a broken chassis. Inside, it's a disaster. Everything is broken, patched up, and then broken again. The door needs to be replaced.

On two occasions, they ask me for my passport. I smile. The hunter and the prey evolve together. The policeman from Centro Habana is programmed for the criminal of Centro Habana. They do not understand me. The officer taking my statement challenges every detail of my story. She asks what my job is. I tell her I’m a programmer, and she responds, “Ahhh, dear, sitting there at the computer typing and doing the ‘paqueta’.” Moments later, she launches into a tirade about the salary of 8000 pesos, the working hours, and the price of a carton of eggs.

I hear her. I hear everyone. I no longer care about my nose, and I've just realized that with their method, it will never show up on the phone. What I can do, I can't do there, but every minute inside the station is an opportunity to learn, and it's worth it.

No one tells me this, but worse than the price of a carton of eggs is the uncertainty. When the police finally collapse and become a symbolic institution, control will shift to the gangs. It is said that this is already happening in some provinces. As long as these gangs do not get involved in politics and refrain from extorting the wrong small and medium-sized enterprises, the army—the only effective mechanism of repression—will turn a blind eye. This is not a premonition; it is the natural course of events. This has always happened everywhere.

On Thursday, I wake up to a call from the station. The officer asks me if I can come in. When I arrive, we review the statement and add the phone's position. That day, she speaks in a different tone. She speaks cautiously. She tells me that the station chief wants to see me. The reason is to ask me some questions about the phone. She sends a message to let them know I'm here and that I have a problem with my leg and can't climb stairs.

The boss appears shortly after, scanning the room for someone who cannot climb stairs. It's clear that he is the boss—his body language shouts it out, and the three stars on his shoulder silently confirm it. He walks past me, pacing back and forth across the hall. He asks two older men who, understandably, don't know how to respond. After a moment of looking around, the aide calls him over and points in my direction. The boss asks, "That foreigner?", to which the aide replies that no, I’m Cuban, but yes, it is me he’s referring to.

He comes in, introduces himself, and guides me to an office. At that moment, I imagined many things and anticipated meeting certain people. That didn't happen. The office was empty. I had a brief conversation with him. He asked me about the phone's GPS and the cybersecurity of the iPhone. Nothing too specific, but he knew what he was talking about and expressed himself well. He spoke with a certain caution. There are things that can be sensed.

That colonel wanted to see my face, and I wasn’t clear on why. When he saw it, it wasn’t what he had expected. And he looked at me very, very intently.

And of course, the colonels don't leave their offices just because someone had their phone stolen.

After discussing the GPS and the iCloud account, the colonel thanks me and tells me he will keep me updated. I notice his body language, which is very different from a moment ago in the living room. I never break character, but I feel it's out of enjoyment. I smile and thank him as well.

This adventure isn't over, something tells me. If you come across a locked red iPhone SE with an iCloud account, it might be mine.

We will talk about Syria next time.

Frequently Asked Questions about Insecurity and the Police Situation in Cuba