How El Salvador Went from the Most Dangerous Country to One of the Safest — And Why the Man Responsible Is So Hated

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In 2015, El Salvador held the grim title of having the highest homicide rate in the Western Hemisphere. Fast forward to today, and it boasts the second-lowest — with only Canada being safer. So, what caused this dramatic transformation? And, more intriguingly, why do so many politicians despise the man who made it happen?

First, a bit of backstory:

El Salvador’s struggles can be traced back to the 1980s during its brutal 12-year civil war. Many Salvadorans fled the violence and ended up in California, where they banded together to form gangs, most notably Barrio 18 and later MS-13. These gangs grew into ruthless criminal organizations, and when many of their members were deported back to El Salvador, they unleashed a new wave of terror on their home country.

Once back in El Salvador, these gangs expanded their control by forcefully recruiting young people and asserting dominance over vast territories. They extorted everyone, from street vendors to large corporations, demanding “rent” — protection money that if left unpaid, often led to death. As the gangs’ grip tightened, the homicide rate soared, and the country fell into chaos.

 

In 2019, a 37-year-old named Nayib Bukele became president. Bukele wasn’t like his predecessors. He had a bold plan to confront crime head-on and demanded new security funding to make it happen. He didn’t hesitate to use the military, showing criminals that their lawlessness would no longer be tolerated. Slowly but surely, things started to improve.

Then came one of the darkest weekends in El Salvador’s recent history.

In March 2022, the country was rocked by a spree of violence that saw nearly 90 people killed in a single weekend, the bloodiest period since the civil war. Bukele’s response? A 30-day “state of exception” that suspended certain civil liberties, allowing for arrests without warrants and restricting public gatherings.

The result?

It worked. Suspected gang members were rounded up from schools, workplaces, and streets. Over 1,000 arrests were made daily, and the situation became so intense that Bukele had to construct a new detention center to house all the prisoners. Homicides dropped by 50% that year. The following year, they plummeted by over 70%.

Despite the overwhelming success, Bukele faced backlash. Human rights groups condemned his aggressive tactics, accusing him of arresting innocent people and treating prisoners inhumanely. But Bukele pointed out that the mortality rate in El Salvador’s prisons is lower than that of the United States, where roughly 140 prisoners die annually.

And Bukele’s stance on treating criminals? Clear-cut. As he put it, “How can I ask the Salvadoran people, who often have modest meals like beans and tortillas, to pay taxes to provide meat and chicken to prisoners who have killed their family members?” In his view, criminals deserved punishment, not sympathy.

So why do politicians hate him?

Bukele’s success exposes a harsh truth: allowing crime to flourish is a choice. If El Salvador — a small, resource-strapped country — can rid itself of rampant gang violence, why can’t larger, wealthier nations? The answer isn’t about capacity; it’s about will. Many countries shy away from tough enforcement, preferring softer approaches that often lead to worsening crime. Force and accountability have become taboo, and criminals are treated more like victims.

Bukele’s leadership demonstrates that crime isn’t an inevitable part of life in cities. It’s a problem that can be fixed, even under the worst conditions, in just a few years. His accomplishments force other leaders to face uncomfortable questions about their own failures, making them quick to criticize his methods.

But while the critics continue to take aim at him, Bukele’s results speak louder than their words:

• Safer streets
• A thriving nation
• A 90% approval rating from his people

Competence silences criticism. As Bukele himself said, “Everything in life has a cost — and the cost of being called authoritarian is too small to bother me much.”

Perhaps it’s time our leaders take note.

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