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The Independent
5 days ago
- Politics
- The Independent
El Salvador's new wave of political exiles say history is repeating itself
The fiercest voices of dissent against President Nayib Bukele have long feared a widespread crackdown. They weathered police raids on their homes, watched their friends being thrown into jail and jumped between safe houses so they can stay in El Salvador. Then they received a warning: Leave immediately. It's exile or prison. A combination of high-profile detentions, a new 'foreign agents' law, violent repression of peaceful protesters and the risk of imminent government detention has driven more than 100 political exiles to flee in recent months. The biggest exodus of journalists, lawyers, academics, environmentalists and human rights activists in years is a dark reminder of the nation's brutal civil war decades ago, when tens of thousands of people are believed to have escaped. Exiles who spoke to The Associated Press say they are scattered across Central America and Mexico with little more than backpacks and a lingering question of where they will end up. 'We're living through a moment where history is repeating itself," said Ingrid Escobar, leader of the human rights legal group Socorro Juridico, who fled El Salvador with her two children. 'We've lost everything," she said. Bukele's administration did not respond to requests for comment. 'We'll have to leave this country' Bukele, 43, has long been criticized for chipping away at democracy and committing human rights abuses in his war on gangs, in which the government waived constitutional rights and arrested more than 1% of El Salvador's population. Activists and journalists say for years they have faced mounting harassment and threats from the self-described 'world's coolest dictator,' whose tongue-in-cheek social media persona, bet on bitcoin and tough-on-crime discourse has gained him the adoration of many on the American right. Despite 60% of Salvadorans saying they fear publicly expressing political opinions in a recent poll, Bukele continues to enjoy soaring levels of approval because violence plummeted following his crackdown on gangs. Escobar — one of the populist's most vocal critics — said that as her organization challenged the government through thousands of legal cases, police constantly surveilled her family, showing up outside her mother's house and her 7- and 11-year-old children's schools. 'One day, we'll have to leave this country,' she told them, hoping it wasn't true. But things have reached an inflection point in recent months as Bukele grows emboldened by his alliance with President Donald Trump, namely due to the detention of hundreds of Venezuelan deportees in a Salvadoran prison made for gangs. In May, the El Salvador government passed a 'foreign agents' law resembling legislation used by Russia, Venezuela and Nicaragua to criminalize dissent by targeting organizations receiving overseas funding. Shortly after, police detained Ruth López, an anti-corruption lawyer at El Salvador's top human rights organization Cristosal, accusing her of corruption. López denies the allegations. As police escorted her in shackles to a June court appearance, she shouted: 'They're not going to silence me! I want a public trial!" Her detention came amid the arrests of several critics. On Thursday, Cristosal announced it had quietly evacuated all of its staff to Guatemala and Honduras, and shut down operations in El Salvador. 'The justice system has been weaponized against us," said Cristosal leader Noah Bullock. 'Nobody in El Salvador has any doubt that the government can detain whoever it wants and disappear them in prisons indefinitely." 'If I stay, will I die?' Escobar soon received news that her name appears on a list with 11 other journalists and activists targeted for detention. Escobar, who was about to enter treatment for sarcoma, a rare form of cancer, worried that if she was thrown in prison, she wouldn't receive care. Around a third of hundreds of deaths in prisons under Bukele were caused by a lack of medical attention. 'I asked myself one question: 'If I stay, will I die?'' she said. In June, she and her children slipped across the Guatemala border, flew to the U.S. and then to another Latin American country. She looks over her shoulder every day. Many of the exiles asked AP to not disclose their locations, fearing they could be tracked down. Others who have fled were too scared to speak on the record, even anonymously. A couple flees Journalist Mónica Rodríguez, 40, and her husband, 37-year-old activist Steve Magaña, are in exile. They were among a handful of people who documented on video Salvadoran police violently quashing a peaceful demonstration. Hundreds of protesters, including children and elderly people, wanted the president to stop the eviction of their rural community on a road near his house. 'It contradicted Bukele's discourse,' Rodríguez said. 'They were repressing people and we were the ones evidencing it." Bukele later posted on the social platform X that the community had been "manipulated" by NGOs and journalists, then announced the foreign agents law. Soon came the arrests and more people fled the country. Rodríguez said police showed photos of her and her husband to the community, asking where they were. Rodríguez and Magaña were already scared after masked police officers raided their home months earlier, seizing computers, cellphones, Magaña's credit cards and hard drives containing Rodríguez's reporting materials. The couple went into hiding, hopping between four safe houses in San Salvador before leaving the country. In June, the Association of Journalists in El Salvador reported that at least 40 journalists fled the country in a matter of weeks. 'We've lost it all' For some, including 55-year-old Jorge Beltrán, a reporter who served in the Salvadoran military during the civil war, it's a case of déjà vu. Between 1979 and 1992, war raged between a repressive, U.S.-backed government and leftist guerrillas. While there's no universally agreed upon number, historians believe tens of thousands of political exiles fled, including opposition leaders, journalists and human rights activists. The U.N. estimates around 1 million people left the country over the course of the war. 'I never thought I'd live through something like that again," Beltrán said. "The armed conflict paved the way for a fledgling democracy we enjoyed for a few years. ... Something was achieved. And now we've lost it all.' The journalist investigating corruption in El Salvador for the newspaper El Diario de Hoy said he pushed back against legal attacks before going into exile. Beltrán was sued by a business owner with close ties to the government over 'moral damages' for his investigation that uncovered evidence of corruption. He was ordered to pay $10 million by a Salvadoran court. Meanwhile, he said, officials constantly harassed him for not revealing his sources in stories about drug trafficking and continued forced disappearances. He eventually received a call from a government official warning that police might come for him. 'I recommend you leave the country. You're one of the 'objectives' they're looking to silence,' Beltrán said he was told. 'You can leave journalism, but they'll make you pay for what you already did.' He left El Salvador alone with two bags of medicine for high blood pressure and his war injuries, a book about government repression and two letters from his wife and daughter saying they hoped they would meet again one day. With bags still packed in another Central American country, he said he wants to seek asylum in Canada. Noting Trump and Bukele are allies, it's the only place in the hemisphere he thinks he will feel safe. 'Even here, I'm stuck behind bars,' he said, speaking from the home with barred windows where he's hiding. 'Exile is a prison.'
Associated Press
5 days ago
- Politics
- Associated Press
El Salvador's new wave of political exiles say history is repeating itself
The fiercest voices of dissent against President Nayib Bukele have long feared a widespread crackdown. They weathered police raids on their homes, watched their friends being thrown into jail and jumped between safe houses so they can stay in El Salvador. Then they received a warning: Leave immediately. It's exile or prison. A combination of high-profile detentions, a new 'foreign agents' law, violent repression of peaceful protesters and the risk of imminent government detention has driven more than 100 political exiles to flee in recent months. The biggest exodus of journalists, lawyers, academics, environmentalists and human rights activists in years is a dark reminder of the nation's brutal civil war decades ago, when tens of thousands of people are believed to have escaped. Exiles who spoke to The Associated Press say they are scattered across Central America and Mexico with little more than backpacks and a lingering question of where they will end up. 'We're living through a moment where history is repeating itself,' said Ingrid Escobar, leader of the human rights legal group Socorro Juridico, who fled El Salvador with her two children. 'We've lost everything,' she said. Bukele's administration did not respond to requests for comment. 'We'll have to leave this country' Bukele, 43, has long been criticized for chipping away at democracy and committing human rights abuses in his war on gangs, in which the government waived constitutional rights and arrested more than 1% of El Salvador's population. Activists and journalists say for years they have faced mounting harassment and threats from the self-described 'world's coolest dictator,' whose tongue-in-cheek social media persona, bet on bitcoin and tough-on-crime discourse has gained him the adoration of many on the American right. Despite 60% of Salvadorans saying they fear publicly expressing political opinions in a recent poll, Bukele continues to enjoy soaring levels of approval because violence plummeted following his crackdown on gangs. Escobar — one of the populist's most vocal critics — said that as her organization challenged the government through thousands of legal cases, police constantly surveilled her family, showing up outside her mother's house and her 7- and 11-year-old children's schools. 'One day, we'll have to leave this country,' she told them, hoping it wasn't true. But things have reached an inflection point in recent months as Bukele grows emboldened by his alliance with President Donald Trump, namely due to the detention of hundreds of Venezuelan deportees in a Salvadoran prison made for gangs. In May, the El Salvador government passed a 'foreign agents' law resembling legislation used by Russia, Venezuela and Nicaragua to criminalize dissent by targeting organizations receiving overseas funding. Shortly after, police detained Ruth López, an anti-corruption lawyer at El Salvador's top human rights organization Cristosal, accusing her of corruption. López denies the allegations. As police escorted her in shackles to a June court appearance, she shouted: 'They're not going to silence me! I want a public trial!' Her detention came amid the arrests of several critics. On Thursday, Cristosal announced it had quietly evacuated all of its staff to Guatemala and Honduras, and shut down operations in El Salvador. 'The justice system has been weaponized against us,' said Cristosal leader Noah Bullock. 'Nobody in El Salvador has any doubt that the government can detain whoever it wants and disappear them in prisons indefinitely.' 'If I stay, will I die?' Escobar soon received news that her name appears on a list with 11 other journalists and activists targeted for detention. Escobar, who was about to enter treatment for sarcoma, a rare form of cancer, worried that if she was thrown in prison, she wouldn't receive care. Around a third of hundreds of deaths in prisons under Bukele were caused by a lack of medical attention. 'I asked myself one question: 'If I stay, will I die?'' she said. In June, she and her children slipped across the Guatemala border, flew to the U.S. and then to another Latin American country. She looks over her shoulder every day. Many of the exiles asked AP to not disclose their locations, fearing they could be tracked down. Others who have fled were too scared to speak on the record, even anonymously. A couple flees Journalist Mónica Rodríguez, 40, and her husband, 37-year-old activist Steve Magaña, are in exile. They were among a handful of people who documented on video Salvadoran police violently quashing a peaceful demonstration. Hundreds of protesters, including children and elderly people, wanted the president to stop the eviction of their rural community on a road near his house. 'It contradicted Bukele's discourse,' Rodríguez said. 'They were repressing people and we were the ones evidencing it.' Bukele later posted on the social platform X that the community had been 'manipulated' by NGOs and journalists, then announced the foreign agents law. Soon came the arrests and more people fled the country. Rodríguez said police showed photos of her and her husband to the community, asking where they were. Rodríguez and Magaña were already scared after masked police officers raided their home months earlier, seizing computers, cellphones, Magaña's credit cards and hard drives containing Rodríguez's reporting materials. The couple went into hiding, hopping between four safe houses in San Salvador before leaving the country. In June, the Association of Journalists in El Salvador reported that at least 40 journalists fled the country in a matter of weeks. 'We've lost it all' For some, including 55-year-old Jorge Beltrán, a reporter who served in the Salvadoran military during the civil war, it's a case of déjà vu. Between 1979 and 1992, war raged between a repressive, U.S.-backed government and leftist guerrillas. While there's no universally agreed upon number, historians believe tens of thousands of political exiles fled, including opposition leaders, journalists and human rights activists. The U.N. estimates around 1 million people left the country over the course of the war. 'I never thought I'd live through something like that again,' Beltrán said. 'The armed conflict paved the way for a fledgling democracy we enjoyed for a few years. ... Something was achieved. And now we've lost it all.' The journalist investigating corruption in El Salvador for the newspaper El Diario de Hoy said he pushed back against legal attacks before going into exile. Beltrán was sued by a business owner with close ties to the government over 'moral damages' for his investigation that uncovered evidence of corruption. He was ordered to pay $10 million by a Salvadoran court. Meanwhile, he said, officials constantly harassed him for not revealing his sources in stories about drug trafficking and continued forced disappearances. He eventually received a call from a government official warning that police might come for him. 'I recommend you leave the country. You're one of the 'objectives' they're looking to silence,' Beltrán said he was told. 'You can leave journalism, but they'll make you pay for what you already did.' He left El Salvador alone with two bags of medicine for high blood pressure and his war injuries, a book about government repression and two letters from his wife and daughter saying they hoped they would meet again one day. With bags still packed in another Central American country, he said he wants to seek asylum in Canada. Noting Trump and Bukele are allies, it's the only place in the hemisphere he thinks he will feel safe. 'Even here, I'm stuck behind bars,' he said, speaking from the home with barred windows where he's hiding. 'Exile is a prison.'
Yahoo
06-05-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Does Nayib Bukele's campaign against democracy give a blueprint for Trump?
'I have no doubt the government are watching,' said Ingrid Escobar, an activist lawyer who has proved a thorn in the side of El Salvador's authorities. 'There are cars that follow me – I have them identified.' Since president Nayib Bukele launched a sweeping crackdown on gangs, Escobar has advocated for the tens of thousands locked up without due process. She points to a photo of Geovanni Aguirre, a childhood friend and trade unionist who worked in San Salvador's mayor's office. He disappeared into the prison system in 2022. 'The threat is real,' said Escobar. 'There are activists and unionists in prison. There are others with arrest orders out for them. Yes, we are afraid.' This is the dark side of the 'Bukele model', which extols an ultra hardline approach to crime spearheaded by a populist leader – but also entails an assault on civil society and democratic institutions, and the accumulation of near absolute power. All with soaring approval ratings. It has made Bukele, 43, the envy of populist authoritarians worldwide, including many in and around the Trump administration. 'President Nayib Bukele saved El Salvador,' TV host Tucker Carlson gushed after interviewing him. 'He may have the blueprint for saving the world.' But El Salvador's embattled civil society and independent press – the only counterweights to Bukele's power that remain – warn the regime may yet take a still darker turn. 'Bukele still benefits from his popularity, but El Salvador could go the way of Nicaragua, where public opinion has swung against the regime,' said Pedro Cabezas, an environmental defender. 'And then it comes down to military control.' Fears that Donald Trump might take cues from Bukele spiked last month when he deported more than 200 migrants to Cecot, El Salvador's mega-prison, and then defied the supremecourt when it ordered that his administration 'facilitate' the return of one of them, Kilmar Ábrego García. Related: The El Salvador mega-prison at the dark heart of Trump immigration crackdown For Salvadorians, this was reminiscent of Bukele's actions back in 2020, when he defied a supreme court ruling to stop detaining people for violating quarantine during the pandemic. Some now see this is a turning point. Over the following years Bukele went on to march the army into the legislature to intimidate lawmakers; fire judges who opposed him; modify the electoral system in his favour; and start a state of exception, suspending Salvadorian's constitutional rights, which shows no sign of ending. Bukele followed the authoritarian playbook – with great success. Last year Salvadorians voted to give him an unconstitutional second consecutive term. All of this has to be seen in the context of what life was like under the MS-13 and Barrio 18 gangs, said Amparo Marroquín, a professor at the Central American University. 'The levels of violence were brutal, especially in the poorer neighbourhoods. It paralysed the social life of the country.' By locking up 85,000 people without due process, many of whom likely have nothing to do with the gangs, Bukele provided a brutal solution. The gangs' territorial control was broken, homicides fell, and many Salvadorians enjoyed a kind of freedom they had not experienced for years. On the outskirts of San Salvador, one taxi driver pointed to the side of the road. 'The gangs dumped bodies here like it was nothing,' he said. 'Sometimes in pieces, over hundreds of metres.' 'It used to be that every time you left home you ran the risk of being robbed or even killed,' he said. 'The president changed that.' Bukele has ridden this wave of relief, with approval ratings consistently around 80% – even if this figure masks an undercurrent of fear. 'Around the same number say they would be afraid to express an opinion that was not aligned with the president,' said Noah Bullock, executive director of Cristosal, a human rights organisation. 'And nobody in this country has any doubt that the government can do whatever it wants to whoever it wants.' One veteran of El Salvador's civil war, who asked not to be named, said he lost a teenage son to a gang shooting in 2010, and that he had been happy to see the gangs brought low. 'But now the soldiers bother us. I don't feel safe, I don't know how to explain it,' he said, searching for the words. 'It's like there are more gangsters with credentials in their hands.' Now the only counterweights to Bukele's power that remain are civil society organisations and the independent press – and he is turning the screws on both. Bukele has portrayed both as political enemies working against him and the Salvadorian people, and the message has been faithfully amplified by his media machine. 'Bukele is like an antenna,' said Cabezas, the environmental defender. 'Then there are the repeater antennae: the ministries, the legislative, all the institutions of the state. And then comes the army of trolls.' At the same time, Bukele pressures civil society through regulations, audits and exemplary persecution, such as in the case of five environmental defenders who were at the forefront of El Salvador's campaign to ban metal mining – which Bukele recently overturned. 'These leaders are known at the national and even international level,' said Cabezas. 'Now, imagine you are someone who doesn't have that kind of profile, and you see the state persecuting them. You'd wonder what they would do to you.' Cristosal found that 86% of civil society organisations in El Salvador now self-censor to avoid reprisals. Meanwhile journalists are subject to harassment and targeted with spyware. 'It has become normalised for security forces to demand journalists' phones in the streets, to threaten them with arrest, or even hold them for a time,' said Sergio Arauz, president of El Salvador's association of journalists. Trump's freezing of USAID, which supported 11 media outlets in El Salvador, and various civil society organisations, was a gift to Bukele. Yet the government stops short of all-out repression – and journalists continue to produce damaging investigations into corruption and the negotiations Bukele's government held with the gangs. 'I think Bukele understands that there is an international cost if he attacks journalists too much, and the question is whether he is willing to pay that cost,' said Marroquín. 'When you cross that line, there is no going back,' added Marroquín. When Bukele was in the Oval Office last month, denying that he could return the wrongly deported Ábrego García, Trump was sat next to him, visibly admiring the spin and aggressive handling of the press. Related: Bukele-mania: El Salvador strongman's crime clampdown excites regional right 'Sometimes they say that we imprisoned thousands,' said Bukele, as he defended his mass incarceration spree. 'I like to say that we actually liberated millions.' Trump smiled and asked: 'Who gave him that line? Do you think I can use that?' To what extent Trump wants to emulate the 'Bukele model' is an open question, but it's far from clear Bukele's methods would work in the US, which both lacks a social crisis of the gravity of El Salvador's gangs and still has a range of formal checks on Trump's power, from the independent judiciary to the federal system. 'American democracy is more resilient – but Americans should not take it for granted,' said Juan Pappier of Human Rights Watch. 'Bukele managed to destroy the Salvadoran democracy in two or three years. And putting institutions back to together is a daunting task.'
