El Salvador’s Bukele shifts his attention from criminal gangs to peasants and the press

By Sarah Birke

Two weeks ago in El Boletín I wrote about President Nayib Bukele’s government’s relationship with Salvadorean gang leaders. El Faro, an online newspaper, had published video interviews in which gang members alleged that Mr Bukele had struck deals with the groups and that they had mobilised voters on his behalf. American indictments of Salvadorean officials in 2021 corroborate these claims. Shortly after the videos were released, there were reports that the government was readying arrest warrants for several El Faro reporters. This proved to be true, and three of the publication’s journalists fled the country, adding to the four already in exile.

A suspected gang member is arrested in El Salvador.

A few days later something shocking happened: on May 18th Ruth López, a lawyer and anti-corruption activist whom I had often interviewed, was arrested. This seemed like a step-change in Mr Bukele’s authoritarian rule, given how prominent she is. I decided it was time to jump on a plane to see how Salvadoreans were viewing things.

I was still let in, somewhat to my surprise, and what I found was a much-heightened sense of fear. It was widespread: from the poor in rural areas to the middle class in San Salvador. Most people had known that Mr Bukele’s style of rule involved an authoritarian streak, but some accepted it — and continue to accept it — as a necessary evil to crack down on gangsters. Now many feel the rules of the game are changing. Mr Bukele is not only more aggressively turning his powers against critics, but more openly too, as if a mask had slipped. “Descarado” — meaning brazen, literally “without face” — is a word that people used a lot.

There are many examples: the round-up of mining activists and bus drivers who failed to comply with an order to offer free transport. The violent dispersal of farmers asking for help not to be evicted from their land. I went to visit their community and found them understandably reluctant to talk on the record for fear of repercussions against them or the local pastor, who was detained and remains in detention as I write. The night I landed Mr Bukele’s National Assembly passed a “foreign agents” bill that is as ominous as it sounds. Ostensibly to promote transparency, it looks more like its Russian and Nicaraguan counterparts that have been used to strangle civil society.

Why is all this happening now? Since the start of the year Mr Bukele’s image, and popularity, have taken a hit due to a series of events: an unpopular move to overturn the ban on mining, the collapse of a public-works project, the El Faro videos. As the usual sweeteners have failed to work, Mr Bukele has resorted to the stick instead of the carrot. And each repressive move has further dented his image. Since coming to power in 2019, he has worked very hard to come across as cool, and to control the narrative to suggest he is not the same as the old, corrupt lot he replaced.

Salvadoreans worry about what comes next. Mr Bukele could regain his footing and it will be business as usual. Others doubt that is possible. Mr Bukele delivered a huge benefit to the population by making El Salvador safer. But the average Salvadorean now worries about the economy. It is still doing OK thanks to remittances and construction, but growth is paltry and its fruits are disproportionately felt by the rich (not to mention Mr Bukele’s inner circle, where corruption is rife). Failing to win back his mask would be dangerous. One Salvadorean policeman told me Mr Bukele would “lash out” like a wounded beast and have to rely on repression. I’ll be examining all this in my piece this week — look out for it.
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Credit: El Boletín, The Economist