El Salvador, a country historically marred by violence and weak institutions, is undergoing a striking political transformation.

President Nayib Bukele, once hailed as a charismatic disruptor, has adopted increasingly authoritarian governance practices. Despite the suspension of democratic norms and mounting human rights abuses, Bukele enjoys overwhelming public support. This paradox raises a critical question: Why do Salvadorans endorse a leader who undermines democracy? The answer lies in El Salvador’s history of insecurity, Bukele’s tangible successes in reducing crime, and the population’s willingness to prioritize safety over democratic principles.

Historical trauma: the roots of violence and institutional weakness

To understand Bukele’s rise, it is essential to examine El Salvador’s history of violence and institutional failure. The roots of the country’s gang problem can be traced back to the 1980s, when the Salvadoran Civil War forced many Salvadorans to flee to the United States. In Los Angeles, marginalized Salvadoran immigrants, facing discrimination and a lack of opportunities, formed gangs like MS-13 and Barrio 18. Following mass deportations in the 1990s, these gangs were exported back to El Salvador, where they took root in a country struggling to rebuild after the war (Trejo et al., 3).

The transition from authoritarian rule to electoral democracy in El Salvador mirrored patterns observed across Latin America, where political change is often accompanied by large-scale criminal violence. Despite the establishment of competitive multiparty elections in the 1980s and peace agreements in the 1990s, El Salvador experienced a surge in criminal violence. Weak post-war institutions failed to address pervasive poverty and social inequality, creating fertile ground for gang activity. By the early 2000s, MS-13 and Barrio 18 had established tight control over urban neighborhoods, operating as de facto authorities in many areas (Trejo et al., 3).

By the early 2000s, MS-13 and Barrio 18 had entrenched themselves in Salvadoran society, controlling neighborhoods, extorting businesses and committing acts of violence on an unprecedented scale. At its height, gang violence was responsible for over 50 percent of homicides in the country (International Crisis Group, 6).

The preferred state response to El Salvador’s gangs has been an “iron fist” policy, which has proven broadly popular. Since Francisco Flores’ administration (1999-2004), successive governments have focused on tough law enforcement measures — with an increased role for the army in public security — and harsher laws against gangs, which were declared terrorist groups by the Supreme Court in 2015. Yet these measures have failed to curb the violence and have often exacerbated mistrust between citizens and the state. Alternative strategies, like the 2012 gang truce brokered by President Mauricio Funes’ administration, temporarily reduced homicides but ultimately collapsed due to design flaws and lack of public support. This confluence of political fragility and entrenched gang power underscores the institutional failures that paved the way for Bukele’s rise, creating a leadership vacuum that he would later fill by presenting himself as a decisive and innovative leader.

Unlike his predecessors, who were constrained by fragmented institutions, political opposition, or attempts at compromise, Bukele consolidated power, bypassed traditional checks and balances, and adopted a zero-tolerance approach to gang violence. By leveraging public frustration with decades of ineffective governance and presenting himself as a modern, relatable figure, he succeeded where others had failed, delivering immediate results in a system long paralyzed by inefficiency and corruption.

Bukele’s appeal: tangible security gains

Bukele’s Territorial Control Plan, launched shortly after his election, has included measures such as the deployment of military and police patrols, mass detentions, and stricter prison controls. Following a spike in violence in 2022, Bukele declared a state of emergency, suspending constitutional rights such as due process and habeas corpus. Under this policy, more than 72,000 individuals have been detained (approximately one percent of the population), less than a third of whom are believed to have any ties to gang-related violence. These measures, while controversial, have yielded undeniable results. Government statistics show a 57 percent reduction in homicides from 1,147 in 2021 to 495 in 2022. Extortion, another gang-driven menace, has also plummeted, allowing businesses to operate with less fear of gang interference. A 2022 CID Gallup poll found that 92 percent of Salvadorans supported the state of emergency, reflecting widespread approval of Bukele’s hardline tactics.

The success of Bukele’s crime crackdown has resonated with Salvadorans, especially “fence-sitters,” who are generally indifferent to the erosion of democratic norms if the immediate benefits seem too valuable to forego. For a population long accustomed to the constant threat of gang violence, these gains are more than statistical—they represent a restoration of basic security and dignity. For a population long accustomed to the constant threat of gang violence, these gains are more than statistical—they represent a restoration of basic security and dignity. Freed from the pervasive fear of extortion, harassment, and territorial control by gangs, many Salvadorans can now reclaim public spaces, walk through their neighborhoods without fear and participate in community life. Small business owners, once crippled by extortion demands and the threat of violence, can operate with greater freedom and stability, fostering economic growth and local entrepreneurship. For ordinary citizens, these changes signify more than safety—they mark a return to a sense of agency and the ability to live and work without constant fear, a profound shift for a society that has long been held hostage by violence.

This emotional connection to safety often outweighs abstract concerns about democratic principles in a society shaped by decades of institutional failure. Bukele’s appeal, however, extends beyond his security policies. Dubbed a “millennial authoritarian,” he has leveraged social media to project a modern and relatable image, particularly to younger voters disillusioned by traditional politics. Promising to combat corruption and revamp ineffective institutions, Bukele has also systematically dismantled institutional checks and balances. After his party secured a two-thirds majority in the Legislative Assembly in May 2021, he replaced Supreme Court justices and the attorney general with loyalists, effectively eliminating independent oversight of the executive branch. Despite the autocratic nature of these moves, Bukele’s ability to deliver visible improvements in security and governance has endeared him to many Salvadorans, who see stability and progress as outweighing the risks of authoritarianism.

The cost of authoritarian success

While Bukele’s policies have reduced crime, they have also come at a steep cost. Human rights organizations have documented widespread abuses, including arbitrary detentions, torture, and the deaths of at least 174 prisoners in custody. The government’s crackdown has disproportionately affected marginalized communities, creating a new climate of fear. Critics argue that Bukele’s tactics risk entrenching a culture of impunity and repression that could have long-term consequences for Salvadoran society. These sacrifices illustrate the complex moral and political trade-offs facing Salvadorans. For those living in gang-controlled neighborhoods, the immediate benefits of Bukele’s policies—such as reduced violence and extortion—often outweigh concerns about human rights violations. This prioritization of security over freedom reflects a broader shift in public values, driven by the failures of past democratic governments to address fundamental needs–in spite of youth and residents living in neighbourhoods with a strong gang presence that have reported that the repression of military and police also had turned against them. For residents in these areas, the sense of safety has been replaced by a different form of fear: that of their own government.

Conclusion

The question of why Salvadorans support an authoritarian leader like Bukele reflects deeper issues of historical trauma, institutional weakness and unmet needs for safety. By delivering tangible security gains in a country long plagued by violence, Bukele has earned the trust of a population willing to trade democratic freedoms for stability. However, this support comes with significant risks, as the erosion of democratic norms and human rights threatens to leave El Salvador vulnerable to future instability. Bukele’s heavy-handed policies not only fail to address the root causes of violence, such as poverty and weak institutions, but also actively target and intimidate other members of society, including political opponents, journalists and activists. These groups face harassment, censorship and arbitrary detention, further eroding democratic freedoms and concentrating power in Bukele’s hands.

Bukele’s rise and sustained popularity offer a sobering lesson about the fragility of democracy. In contexts where institutions fail to deliver security and justice, authoritarian solutions can appear not only acceptable but desirable. For democratic nations seeking to address security issues without undermining democratic principles, the Salvadoran case serves as a warning. It illustrates how unmet needs for safety, effective governance, and equality can lead people to tolerate or even endorse the erosion of democratic values. Addressing the root cause of violence and supporting strong, transparent institutions may prevent the need for extreme measures like those seen in El Salvador today. Ultimately, Bukele’s presidency underscores the need for democratic leaders to balance security with accountability, lest they risk a cycle of repression and instability that, while promising safety, could imperil the very freedoms they purport to protect.

Rachel DeGaugh is a Notre Dame junior studying global affairs, Spanish and data science with research interests in international law, human rights, disability rights, migration and artificial intelligence governance. Her blog post, written for the Keough School seminar Democracy & Dictatorships, was selected for publication by course instructor Laura Gamboa.

Originally published by Rachel DeGaugh at keough.nd.edu on January 15, 2025.