Elected in 2019 as El Salvador’s 81st president, Nayib Bukele campaigned on a promise to make the country safer. In this article, Elizabeth García examines how his efforts to deliver on that promise have led to severe human rights violations and reshaped security policy across Latin America.
“Today, we won in the first round and we made history. We’ve turned the page on power.” Nayib Bukele’s win marked the collapse of El Salvador’s two dominant political parties: the conservative Nationalist Republican Alliance (ARENA) and the leftist Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front (FMLN), both of which had lost public trust amid decades of corruption and failure to curb rising gang violence. Bukele’s election in 2019 was seen by many in the country and across Latin America as the dawn of a new political era. One that promised anti-corruption, investment in education, infrastructure and, most urgently, a safer nation.
Now, six years and a second term later, the era ushered in by Bukele has delivered more security—but at a cost that is increasingly drawing international scrutiny. The establishment of the Centro de Confinamiento del Terrorismo (CECOT), a mega-prison with the capacity to hold 40,000 inmates, has become a symbol of Bukele’s iron-fisted approach to crime. Under his “state of emergency,” which suspends certain constitutional rights, more than 75,000 people have been arrested, many without due process. While homicide rates have plummeted and public spaces once controlled by gangs are now accessible, human rights organisations warn that the price of peace has been mass incarceration, arbitrary detentions and the erosion of democratic norms.
From murder capital to mandate for change
Before Bukele, El Salvador was known as the “murder capital of the world,” with the country recording an average of 103 homicides per 100,000 people in 2015. This staggering rate of violence was largely driven by powerful street gangs, particularly MS-13 and Barrio 18. The state, weakened by years of civil war and institutional corruption, struggled to assert control, leaving many Salvadorans at the mercy of extortion, forced displacement and extrajudicial killings.
Previous administrations implemented a mix of hardline crackdowns, known as mano dura policies, and short-lived truces with gang leaders. While these approaches occasionally led to temporary declines in violence, they often backfired, strengthening the gangs’ internal structures and giving them more leverage over communities. Prisons became recruitment hubs, and the public grew increasingly disillusioned with the state’s inability to restore order.
By the time Bukele came into office in 2019, trust in traditional political parties had eroded. His rise represented not just a generational shift but a broader desire for a clean break from the status quo. Campaigning on promises to restore security and take back control of the streets, Bukele capitalised on a public mandate for change—setting the stage for drastic measures.
CECOT: symbol of power or repression?
CECOT is not an isolated initiative; it’s the culmination of Bukele’s seven-phase Territorial Control Plan, which he launched within his first year in office, focused on reclaiming gang-occupied areas. Marketed as a fortress of law and order, CECOT was unveiled in a highly publicised media campaign that broadcast images of tattooed inmates lined up with their heads bowed and shaved, effectively stripped of their identity and autonomy. Inmates are held in overcrowded cells, sleep on metal bunks without mattresses and have 0.6 square meters of space each. There are no educational programs, family visits, or outdoor access. These conditions highlight the state’s prioritisation of security over basic human rights. For supporters, it represents the long-awaited triumph of the state over criminal organisations that had terrorised the country for decades.
Exporting authoritarianism and the spread of populism
As crime surges across Latin America, regional leaders are increasingly looking to Bukele and CECOT as a blueprint for security policy. The prison’s scale and symbolism have drawn attention from politicians across Latin America seeking to replicate Bukele’s perceived success. In Ecuador, President Daniel Noboa has unveiled plans to construct similar “ultra-secure” facilities, citing Bukele’s strategy as a model. In Honduras, President Xiomara Castro has announced plans to build a similar CECOT-style mega-prison. In Lima, Peru’s capital, Mayor Rafael López Aliaga has called Bukele’s crime crackdown a “miracle,” while Costa Rica’s Security Minister, Jorge Torres, has expressed interest in adopting similar methods. Bukele’s brand of authoritarian securitisation is quickly emerging as Latin America’s most influential model for public safety policy.
This influence goes beyond infrastructure; it signals a shift in how governments across the region approach public safety. Rather than focusing on long-term social reform or institutional rebuilding, many are turning toward hardline containment strategies that project immediate control. However, copying Bukele’s model risks normalising security-driven populism, a framework that exchanges civil liberties for public order without addressing the structural roots of violence. In this model, poverty, lack of opportunity and state neglect are treated not as causes of crime but as conditions for criminality.
Rethinking safety from the ground up
Building lasting security requires more than mass incarceration and militarised crackdowns; it requires rebuilding trust between communities and institutions. Instead of relying on surveillance and fear, countries can invest in violence prevention through education, social services and local economic development. Programs such as Operación Convivencia in Medellín, Colombia, have shown that community-based interventions, such as youth mentorship, conflict resolution guidance, job training and urban renewal, can dramatically reduce crime while empowering citizens, not silencing them. Strengthening judicial independence, reforming police forces and ensuring that justice is fair and accessible are also essential steps toward sustainable peace. These approaches offer a human rights-based approach to the issue of gang violence in El Salvador through security grounded in dignity, inclusion and long-term resilience
Nayib Bukele entered politics promising to rewrite history. In many ways, he has. However, CECOT is not just a prison; it is a political symbol. It represents the region’s growing acceptance of authoritarian shortcuts in exchange for public safety. As other Latin American leaders begin to follow his blueprint, the region faces a pivotal question: Will lasting security come from fear and force—or from justice, accountability and the rebuilding of trust between people and the state? The answer may define the future of democracy in Latin America.
All articles posted on this blog give the views of the author(s), and not the position of the Department of Sociology, LSE Human Rights, nor of the London School of Economics and Political Science.
Image credit: Emiliano Bar
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