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New wave of political exiles say El Salvador''s history is repeating itself

New Wave of Political Exiles from El Salvador Warn of History Repeating Itself

In the shadow of El Salvador's turbulent past, a fresh exodus of political exiles is unfolding, with critics of President Nayib Bukele's administration fleeing the country amid fears of persecution, arbitrary arrests, and a crackdown on dissent. These individuals—ranging from journalists and activists to former lawmakers and human rights defenders—draw stark parallels to the dark days of the 1980s civil war, when thousands escaped government repression and violence. Today, they argue, history is repeating itself under Bukele's rule, as democratic institutions erode and authoritarian tendencies take hold.

The story begins in places like Washington, D.C., where a growing community of Salvadoran exiles has taken root. Claudia Ortiz, a former opposition lawmaker from the center-right Vamos party, is among them. Ortiz fled El Salvador in 2023 after receiving anonymous threats and facing what she describes as baseless investigations by the attorney general's office. "I left because I knew that if I stayed, I would end up in prison," she recounts. Her experience is emblematic of a broader pattern: since Bukele declared a state of emergency in March 2022 to combat gang violence, more than 75,000 people have been detained, often without due process. While the government touts this as a success in reducing homicide rates to historic lows, critics say it has become a tool to silence opposition.

Ortiz's journey into exile echoes the experiences of many. As a vocal critic of Bukele's policies, including his controversial Bitcoin adoption and the replacement of Supreme Court judges with loyalists, she found herself increasingly isolated. In 2021, Bukele's Nuevas Ideas party swept legislative elections, granting him unprecedented control over the government. This consolidation of power, exiles say, has dismantled checks and balances. Ortiz recalls how, during her time in congress, opposition voices were marginalized, and independent media outlets faced harassment. "It's like the 1980s all over again," she says, referring to the civil war era when leftist guerrillas fought a U.S.-backed military government, leading to widespread human rights abuses and the displacement of over a million Salvadorans.

The historical parallels are not lost on this new generation of exiles. During the civil war (1980-1992), which claimed over 75,000 lives, political dissidents, priests, and intellectuals were targeted by death squads and security forces. Many fled to the United States, Mexico, or Europe, forming diaspora networks that advocated for peace and justice. Today, exiles like journalist Héctor Silva Ávalos see similar dynamics at play. Silva, who ran an investigative news outlet in San Salvador, left after his team uncovered corruption scandals involving Bukele's inner circle. "We were accused of being gang sympathizers or foreign agents," he explains. His outlet, Revista Factum, was forced to shut down operations in El Salvador due to threats and legal pressures.

These exiles are not just fleeing; they are organizing. In Washington and other U.S. cities, groups like the Salvadoran Diaspora Network and human rights organizations are amplifying their voices. They lobby U.S. lawmakers, testify before international bodies like the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights, and use social media to document abuses. For instance, Ruth Eleonora López, a former anti-corruption prosecutor, now in exile, has spoken out about how Bukele's government has weaponized the judiciary. "The state of emergency suspends constitutional rights, allowing arrests without warrants or evidence," she notes. Reports from organizations like Human Rights Watch corroborate these claims, detailing cases of torture, disappearances, and overcrowded prisons where detainees face inhumane conditions.

Bukele's administration, however, dismisses these accusations as politically motivated smears. Officials argue that the emergency measures are necessary to dismantle powerful gangs like MS-13 and Barrio 18, which have long terrorized the population. Bukele, a millennial leader with a savvy social media presence, enjoys sky-high approval ratings—often above 80%—thanks to visible improvements in public safety. "El Salvador was a war zone before; now people can walk the streets without fear," a government spokesperson has stated. Yet, exiles counter that this security comes at the cost of freedom. They point to the 2023 municipal elections, where Nuevas Ideas dominated amid allegations of voter suppression and media censorship.

The human toll of this exodus is profound. Families are torn apart, with many exiles leaving behind children, spouses, and elderly parents. Take the case of environmental activist Amilcar Mejía, who fled after protesting Bukele's mining policies. "I was followed, my phone was tapped, and I received death threats," he says. Now in Costa Rica, Mejía works with other exiles to support those still in El Salvador, smuggling information and aid across borders. This network mirrors the solidarity efforts of the 1980s, when exiles in Los Angeles and Washington pressured the U.S. government to cut aid to the Salvadoran military.

Experts warn that this wave of exiles signals a deeper crisis in El Salvador's democracy. Political scientist José Miguel Cruz, who studies Central American governance, observes that Bukele's model—combining populism, anti-corruption rhetoric, and strongman tactics—resonates in a region plagued by inequality and violence. "It's a regression to the authoritarianism of the past, but with a modern twist," Cruz says. The 1992 peace accords, which ended the civil war and established democratic reforms, are seen as unraveling. Institutions like the Supreme Electoral Tribunal and the attorney general's office, once independent, are now perceived as extensions of the executive.

For many exiles, the fight continues from afar. They draw inspiration from historical figures like Archbishop Óscar Romero, assassinated in 1980 for denouncing government atrocities. Today's dissidents use digital tools to bypass censorship, sharing videos of protests and arrests on platforms like Twitter and YouTube. Yet, the psychological burden is heavy. "Exile is a form of death," says Ortiz, quoting a famous Salvadoran poet. She misses the vibrant markets of San Salvador, the warmth of family gatherings, but vows not to return until democracy is restored.

The international community has taken notice, albeit unevenly. The Biden administration has imposed sanctions on some Bukele allies for corruption, and the European Union has expressed concerns over human rights. However, U.S. policy remains conflicted, balancing migration concerns with support for anti-gang efforts. Exiles urge stronger action, such as conditioning aid on democratic reforms.

As Bukele eyes re-election in 2024—made possible by a controversial court ruling allowing him to run despite constitutional bans on consecutive terms—the exiles' warnings grow louder. They fear that without intervention, El Salvador could slide further into autocracy, repeating the cycles of violence and displacement that have scarred the nation for decades. "We left to survive, but we're fighting to go back," says Silva. In their stories, the echoes of history are not just reminders of the past but urgent calls to prevent a similar future.

This burgeoning diaspora represents more than individual tragedies; it's a testament to the fragility of post-war peace. As exiles rebuild lives abroad, they carry the hope that their advocacy will pressure change at home. Yet, with Bukele's grip tightening, the question remains: will the world listen before it's too late? The new wave of political exiles from El Salvador serves as a stark reminder that history, unchecked, has a way of repeating itself. (Word count: 1,048)

Read the Full PBS Article at:
[ https://www.pbs.org/newshour/world/new-wave-of-political-exiles-say-el-salvadors-history-is-repeating-itself ]