Men freed from El Salvador mega-prison endured ‘state-sanctioned torture', lawyers say
When José Manuel Ramos Bastidas – one of 252 Venezuelan men that the US sent to El Salvador's most notorious mega-prison – finally made it back home to El Tocuyo on Tuesday, the first thing he did was stretch his arms around his family.
His wife, son and mother were wearing the bright blue shirts they had printed with a photo of him, posed in a yellow and black moto jacket and camo-print jeans. It was the first time they had hugged him since he left Venezuela last year. And it was the first time they could be sure – truly sure – that he was alive and well since he disappeared into the Centro de Confinamiento del Terrorismo (Cecot) in March.
'We have been waiting for this moment for months, and I feel like I can finally breathe,' said Roynerliz Rodríguez, Ramos Bastidas's partner. 'These last months have been a living nightmare, not knowing anything about José Manuel and only imagining what he must be suffering. I am happy he is free from Cecot, but I also know that we will never be free of the shadow of this experience. There must be justice for all those who suffered this torture.'
The Venezuelan deportees were repatriated last week following a deal between the US and Venezuelan governments. Nicolás Maduro, the Venezuelan president, negotiated a prisoner swap that released 10 American citizens in his custody and dozens of Venezuelan political prisoners in exchange for the release of his citizens from Cecot.
This week, after undergoing medical and background checks, they are finally reuniting with their families. Their testimonies of what they experienced inside Cecot are providing the first, most detailed pictures of the conditions inside Cecot, a mega-prison that human rights groups say is designed to disappear people.
Ramos Bastidas and other US deportees were told that they were condemned to spend 30 to 90 years in Cecot unless the US president ordered otherwise, he told his lawyers. They were shot with rubber bullets on repeated occasions – including on Friday, during their last day of detention.
In interviews with the media and in testimony provided to their lawyers, other detainees described lengthy beatings and humiliation by guards. After some detainees tried to break the locks on their cell, prisoners were beaten for six consecutive days, the Atlantic reports. Male guards reportedly brought in female colleagues, who beat the naked prisoners and recorded videos.
Edicson David Quintero Chacón, a US deportee, said that he was placed in isolation for stretches of time, during which he thought he would die, his lawyer told the Guardian. Quintero Chacón, who has scars from daily beatings, also said that he and other inmates were only provided soap and an opportunity to bathe on days when visitors were touring the prison – forcing them to choose between hygiene and public humiliation.
Food was limited, and the drinking water was dirty, Quintero Chacón and other detainees have said. Lights were on all night, so detainees could never fully rest. 'And the guards would also come in at night and beat them at night,' said his lawyer Stephanie M Alvarez-Jones, the south-east regional attorney at the National Immigration Project.
In a filing asking for a dismissal of her months-long petition on behalf of her clients' release, Alvarez-Jones wrote: 'He will likely carry the psychological impact of this torture his whole life. The courts must never look away when those who wield the power of the US government, at the highest levels, engage in such state-sanctioned violence.'
Ramos Bastidas has never been convicted of any crimes in the US (or in any country). In fact, he had never really set foot in the US as a free man.
In El Tocuyo, in the Venezuelan state of Lara, and had been working since he was a teenager to support his family. Last year, he decided to leave his country – which has yet to recover from an economic collapse – to seek better income, so he could pay for medical care for his infant with severe asthma.
In March 2024, he arrived at the US-Mexico border and presented himself at a port of entry. He made an appointment using the now-defunct CBP One phone application to apply for asylum – but immigration officials and a judge determined that he did not qualify.
But Customs and Border Protection agents had flagged Ramos Bastidas as a possible member of the Venezuelan gang Tren de Aragua, based on an unsubstantiated report from Panamanian officials and his tattoos. So they transferred him to a detention facility, where he was to remain until he could be deported.
Despite agreeing to return to Venezuela, he remained for months in detention. 'I think what is particularly enraging for José is that he had accepted his deportation,' said Alvarez-Jones. 'He was asking for his deportation for a long time, and he just wanted to go back home.'
In December, Venezuela wasn't accepting deportees – so Ramos Bastidas asked if he could be released and make his own way home. A month later, Donald Trump was sworn in as president. Everything changed.
Ramos Bastidas began to see other Venezuelans were being sent to the military base in Guantánamo Bay in Cuba – and he feared the same would happen to him. On 14 March, he shared with his family that maybe he would be able to come back to Venezuela after all, after officials began prepping him for deportation.
The next day, he was flown to Cecot.
'They could have deported him to Venezuela,' Alvarez-Jones. 'Instead, the US government made a determination to send him to be tortured in Cecot.'
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The Guardian
40 minutes ago
- The Guardian
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2 hours ago
- Telegraph
White House backs anti-Islam preacher in two-tier policing row
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Street preaching is a visible part of religious life in the US, especially in the South and Midwest. But in the UK, it is less socially accepted, and even viewed as a public nuisance. In 2021, Mr Moodley was banned from 'passing comment' on any faith other than Christianity and from giving sermons without police approval. It can now be revealed that the pastor, 58, was among the activists who met US State Department diplomats during their fact-finding mission to the UK in March. Until now, it was only confirmed that the US delegation met five anti-abortion activists charged over prayer vigils outside clinics, including Livia Tossici-Bolt, convicted in April for protesting in Bournemouth. The others were Isabel Vaughan-Spruce, Rose Docherty, Adam Smith-Connor and Father Sean Gough, who all described being detained for silent prayer. 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Reuters
3 hours ago
- Reuters
The US said it had no choice but to deport them to a third country. Then it sent them home
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The U.S. Department of Homeland Security said in June that third-country deportations allow them to deport people 'so uniquely barbaric that their own countries won't take them back.' Critics have countered that it's not clear the U.S. tried to return the men deported to South Sudan and Eswatini to their home countries and that the deportations were unnecessarily cruel. Reuters found that at least five men threatened with deportation to Libya in May were sent to their home countries weeks later, according to interviews with two of the men, a family member and attorneys. After a U.S. judge blocked the Trump administration from sending them to Libya, two men from Vietnam, two men from Laos and a man from Mexico were all deported to their home nations. The deportations have not previously been reported. DHS did not comment on the removals. Reuters could not determine if their home countries initially refused to take them or why the U.S. tried to send them to Libya. DHS spokesperson Tricia McLaughlin contested that the home countries of criminals deported to third countries were willing to take them back, but did not provide details on any attempts to return the five men home before they were threatened with deportation to Libya. 'If you come to our country illegally and break our laws, you could end up in CECOT, Alligator Alcatraz, Guantanamo Bay, or South Sudan or another third country,' McLaughlin said in a statement, referencing El Salvador's maximum-security prison and a detention center in the subtropical Florida Everglades. DHS did not respond to a request for the number of third-country deportations since Trump took office on January 20, although there have been thousands to Mexico and hundreds to other countries. The eight men sent to South Sudan were from Cuba, Laos, Mexico, Myanmar, South Sudan and Vietnam, according to DHS. The man DHS said was from South Sudan had a deportation order to Sudan, according to a court filing. The five men sent to Eswatini were from Cuba, Jamaica, Laos, Vietnam and Yemen, according to DHS. White House spokeswoman Abigail Jackson said the men deported to South Sudan and Eswatini were 'the worst of the worst' and included people convicted in the United States of child sex abuse and murder. 'American communities are safer with these heinous illegal criminals gone,' Jackson said in a statement. The Laos government did not respond to requests for comment regarding the men threatened with deportation to Libya and those deported to South Sudan and Eswatini. Vietnam's foreign ministry spokesperson said on July 17 that the government was verifying information regarding the South Sudan deportation but did not provide additional comment to Reuters. The government of Mexico did not comment. The Trump administration acknowledged in a May 22 court filing that the man from Myanmar had valid travel documents to return to his home country but he was deported to South Sudan anyway. DHS said the man had been convicted of sexual assault involving a victim mentally and physically incapable of resisting. Eswatini's government said on Tuesday that it was still holding the five migrants sent there in isolated prison units under the deal with the Trump administration. The Supreme Court in June allowed the Trump administration to deport migrants to third countries without giving them a chance to show they could be harmed. But the legality of the removals is still being contested in a federal lawsuit in Boston, a case that could potentially wind its way back to the conservative-leaning high court. Critics say the removals aim to stoke fear among migrants and encourage them to 'self deport' to their home countries rather than be sent to distant countries they have no connection with. 'This is a message that you may end up with a very random outcome that you're going to like a lot less than if you elect to leave under your own steam,' said Michelle Mittelstadt, communications director for the non-partisan Migration Policy Institute. Internal U.S. immigration enforcement guidance issued in July said migrants could be deported to countries that had not provided diplomatic assurances of their safety in as little as six hours. While the administration has highlighted the deportations of convicted criminals to African countries, it has also sent asylum-seeking Afghans, Russians and others to Panama and Costa Rica. The Trump administration deported more than 200 Venezuelans accused of being gang members to El Salvador in March, where they were held in the country's CECOT prison without access to attorneys until they were released in a prisoner swap last month. More than 5,700 non-Mexican migrants have been deported to Mexico since Trump took office, according to Mexican government data, continuing a policy that began under former President Joe Biden. The fact that one Mexican man was deported to South Sudan and another threatened with deportation to Libya suggests that the Trump administration did not try to send them to their home countries, according to Trina Realmuto, executive director at the pro-immigrant National Immigration Litigation Alliance. 'Mexico historically accepts back its own citizens,' said Realmuto, one of the attorneys representing migrants in the lawsuit contesting third-country deportations. The eight men deported to South Sudan included Mexican national Jesus Munoz Gutierrez, who had served a sentence in the U.S. for second-degree murder and was directly taken into federal immigration custody afterward, according to Realmuto. Court records show Munoz stabbed and killed a roommate during a fight in 2004. When the Trump administration first initiated the deportation in late May, Mexico's President Claudia Sheinbaum said her government had not been informed. 'If he does want to be repatriated, then the United States would have to bring him to Mexico,' Sheinbaum said at the time. His sister, Guadalupe Gutierrez, said in an interview that she didn't understand why he was sent to South Sudan, where he is currently in custody. She said Mexico is trying to get her brother home. 'Mexico never rejected my brother,' Gutierrez said. Immigration hardliners see the third-country removals as a way to deal with immigration offenders who can't easily be deported and could pose a threat to the U.S. public. "The Trump administration is prioritizing the safety of American communities over the comfort of these deportees,' said Jessica Vaughan, policy director at the Center for Immigration Studies, which supports lower levels of immigration. The Trump administration in July pressed other African nations to take migrants and has asked the Pacific Islands nation of Palau, among others. Under U.S. law, federal immigration officials can deport someone to a country other than their place of citizenship when all other efforts are 'impracticable, inadvisable or impossible.' Immigration officials must first try to send an immigrant back to their home country, and if they fail, then to a country with which they have a connection, such as where they lived or were born. For a Lao man who was almost deported to Libya in early May, hearing about the renewed third-country deportations took him back to his own close call. In an interview from Laos granted on condition of anonymity because of fears for his safety, he asked why the U.S. was 'using us as a pawn?' His attorney said the man had served a prison sentence for a felony. Reuters could not establish what he was convicted of. He recalled officials telling him to sign his deportation order to Libya, which he refused, telling them he wanted to be sent to Laos instead. They told him he would be deported to Libya regardless of whether he signed or not, he said. DHS did not comment on the allegations. The man, who came to the United States in the early 1980s as a refugee when he was four years old, said he was now trying to learn the Lao language and adapt to his new life, 'taking it day by day.'
