Within the first two months of the state of emergency in El Salvador imposed by President Nayib Bukele back in 2022, two of Gladis Álvarez’s sons were arrested and accused of being gang associates. Since then, the 53-year-old woman’s life has fallen apart. “There were eight of us in my family. Now, I’m the only one left,” Álvarez laments. “Since my sons were arrested, our lives have been destroyed in a terrible way,” she adds.
More than four years after the brutal strategy began — which has kept 2% of the adult population in prison without having stood trial — the popular president claims to have “a plan” to release thousands of detainees accused of being part of the gangs.
Álvarez recounts her loneliness after her children’s arrest: “First, my two daughters-in-law left, each with their child. The girl was seven and the boy was five. Then, my husband fell into a deep depression. I just saw him crying every night until he died. It’s been 15 days since then. All because of a policeman who decided to ruin our lives. Now, I feel defeated. I feel like I no longer have the strength to speak, or to fight.”
Bukele recently stated that his government has created a commission — one that’s parallel to the justice system — to evaluate each of the 92,000 prisoners on a case-by-case basis. These detainees were all jailed during the state of emergency imposed by his administration. The president has taken this step in order to “make an exception for a large number of them, even though they’re guilty.”
On Friday, October 16, Bukele explained that the commission would only benefit about 5,000 people, despite initially stating that parole could benefit half of those detained. Mothers like Gladis Álvarez, however, no longer know if the measure, which could free tens of thousands of prisoners, is good news or not.
Between April 18 and May 16, 2022, police arrested Alfredo Aarón Morales Álvarez and Kevin Francisco Morales Álvarez, Gladis’s two sons. “They grabbed Alfredo around two in the afternoon, a block from the house. There was a policeman who’d always had a grudge against him. And, that day, I think he got his revenge. Since he knew he had the power, he arrested [my son] and took him away. A month and a half later, he died,” she recounts, describing the arrest and death of one of her sons.
On June 27 of the same year, Alfredo Morales’ body was removed from La Esperanza prison, a civilian penitentiary in El Salvador (one that wasn’t originally designated for gang members). His body showed signs of torture, lacerations on his skin and marks indicating asphyxiation. Months after his death, his case was presented to the United Nations, according to the NGO Socorro Jurídico Humanitario (“Humanitarian Legal Aid”). “I didn’t see [the body], I didn’t want to see it… but my family has the photos. My son was tortured,” Gladis says.
According to this mother, her son was tortured to death by two police officers, identified by the nicknames Montaña (“Mountain”) and Tigre (“Tiger”). Both officers have been accused of torture by some of the few inmates who remained at La Esperanza prison and were released during the state of emergency. The first official was identified as William Ernesto Magaña Rodríguez by the newspaper El Faro.
Gladis’s other son, Kevin Francisco, has a hearing next month. His fate will be decided in one of the mass trials in which, according to lawyers consulted by EL PAÍS, all those prosecuted are being convicted.
Like Gladis, other mothers of prisoners being held under the state of emergency believe that, while releasing the innocent would be a just measure, much of the damage to the lives of the inmates and their families has already been done.
One of the mothers is Mirna Urías. She had just arrived home on Thursday, October 15, at five in the afternoon. This was after a 15-hour journey that she repeats every two weeks, in order to bring food and hygiene products to her son and husband (both imprisoned under the state of emergency). “Every two weeks, I get up at 2 a.m. and take a 3:00 a.m. bus to San Salvador. There, I drop off the package for my husband. And then, I take another bus to [the city of] Sonsonate, to drop off the package for my son. It’s a full-day trip and costs me $150 or $200 a month,” the woman explains.
Merlon Urías and his father, Antonio, were detained during the first month of the state of emergency. And, since then, Mirna has had to work planting sugarcane, corn and beans, in order to earn the $200 a month she needs to be able deliver food packages to the prisons. Her hopes, however, are fading: she expects the worst. “My husband had a hearing on July 8 and he was sentenced to 30 years. My son is scheduled to have a hearing next month,” she sighs.
Urías says she doesn’t know much about the commission that the president announced. But whatever happens, she believes that the state of emergency has changed their lives forever. “[My son’s] partner found someone else. She now has a one-year-old child. When he gets out, there won’t be anyone waiting for him… only me,” she explains, describing her son’s situation.
The mothers interviewed by this newspaper also expressed concern that, if their relatives are released from prison, they’ll be condemned to a life of fear, or burdened by stigma. “I think it’ll be good to have my family at home, but I don’t want them to be released only to be marginalized: not being able to go to the corner store, or living in fear of being taken away again. Because that’s what we’ve seen happen to the few people who’ve been released. And then, they’re being sentenced again. That’s no way to live,” Urías affirms.
Uncertainty among prisoners’ lawyers
Lawyers consulted about Bukele’s recently-announced measure stated that none of them had been notified about the existence of an evaluation commission. “Simply because that doesn’t exist in current law,” one of them said.
According to the lawyers, the only actors who can intervene in this type of judicial process are members of the Public Prosecutor’s Office, the defense attorneys and the judges. “In this case, what we see is that the president has given himself the power, or has given some people the power – we don’t know who – to be judges. Because not even the Public Prosecutor’s Office can order someone’s release; they can request it from a judge, but it’s the judge who decides in the end,” one of the defense attorneys pointed out.
“According to the legislation on the books, a prisoner can only obtain this type of prison benefit after having served at least half or two-thirds of their sentence. And the minimum sentence for [associating with a gang] is 20 years. But in this country, none of the laws are respected anymore,” another of the lawyers consulted lamented.
Meanwhile, the mothers and other relatives of the prisoners continue to wait. They’re torn between the hope that their loved ones will be let out of prison and the sorrow that, upon their release, they will find their lives in ruins. “If my son gets out, he’ll find his home destroyed – everything’s [gone]. I separated from his father. I’m a single mother. There’ve been deaths in the family. His wife [is living] in another home, his children won’t recognize him... that will be a hard blow for my son. They’ve destroyed half [these boys’] lives,” Marcela Mata concludes. She’s another mother whose life has been cut short by Nayib Bukele’s state of emergency.
Translated by Avik Jain Chatlani.
Sign up for our weekly newsletter to get more English-language news coverage from EL PAÍS USA Edition