source: Miami Herald
A prison guard mans an interior perimeter at CECOT (Counter Terrorism Confinement Center), where thousands of accused gang members are imprisoned, on December 15, 2025 in Tecoluca, El Salvador. CECOT gained notoriety in 2025 when the Trump administration began its controversial policy of deporting people to El Salvador whom they claimed were members of the Venezuelan criminal organization Tren de Aragua and Mara Salvatrucha (MS-13), a gang whose members are historically Salvadoran.
When police detained Levi Morales under El Salvador’s emergency powers, his family says the arrest was meant to send a message — and not just to him. Officers arrived before dawn in the western town of Nahuizalco in November 2022 and took the young farmer into custody under a so-called state of exception that has allowed authorities to detain tens of thousands of people since March of that year. Morales was accused of agrupaciones ilícitas (“illicit associations”), a sweeping criminal charge that human rights groups say has frequently been used to justify arrests with little publicly disclosed evidence.
But to his family — and to the authors of a sweeping new human rights report — Morales’ detention was about more than the charge. It was, they argue, a warning directed at his father. A 127-page study released this week by Cristosal, a prominent Central American human rights organization, contends that Morales’ case fits a broader pattern in which relatives of activists are prosecuted to pressure and silence visible community leaders. In this instance, researchers argue, the criminal case against a son became leverage against a father long known for defending Indigenous land rights and environmental protections.
Silverio Morales, an Indigenous leader from Nahuizalco in Sonsonate province, has spent years advocating for ancestral farming practices and territorial rights. In a region where Indigenous identity and defense of the land remain deeply intertwined, he has promoted traditional agricultural methods rooted in ancestral knowledge and spoken out against projects communities believe threaten their environment. That visibility, according to the report, came at a cost.
Silverio Morales says he and his family experienced surveillance and intimidation even before President Nayib Bukele’s government enacted the state of exception to combat gang violence. In recent years, he has described growing stigmatization of environmental and human rights advocates — increasingly portrayed in official narratives as obstacles to development or as politically aligned with opposition actors. The arrest of his son, the report suggests, marked an escalation.
Cristosal describes the case as an example of “persecución vicaria” — vicarious persecution — in which the state allegedly targets family members to fracture resistance movements and deter others from organizing. By combining detention, procedural obstacles and sustained intimidation, the strategy sends a warning to communities that challenge projects affecting their territories, researchers say.
Levi Morales remained in detention for 17 months. From the outset, his family says they struggled to obtain information about his whereabouts. He was transferred between detention centers without notice. At one point, relatives say they went 10 days without knowing where he was being held — a period they describe as a short-term enforced disappearance. Access to private attorneys was restricted under emergency rules, and presenting exculpatory evidence proved difficult.
According to Silverio Morales, police officers initially attempted to kill his son rather than detain him. They opened fire as soon as he was spotted, but he managed to flee in a car and was subsequently hidden by his family. Eventually, he turned himself in in front of witnesses before being charged with being a gang member. Silverio Morales recounted that at the time, an officer told him: “Give thanks to God that he hid, because otherwise he would already be dead. We have orders to kill.”
Morales’ case went through multiple review hearings in 2023. Judges denied him release, arguing that he lacked independent domicile because he lived in a home owned by his father. Finally, in April 2024, when Morales was about to be released to be placed under house arrest, he was rearrested without a new charge and returned to prison — what Cristosal describes as a form of “double persecution.”
In April 2024, a court again approved alternative measures. Yet prison authorities delayed compliance, citing administrative procedures. Finally, on May 14, 2024, after more than a year and a half behind bars, he was released. The criminal case remains open.
He is among 245 people whose stories are documented in Cristosal’s new report, The Price of Dissent: Criminalization and Political Persecution in El Salvador 2019–2025. The study catalogs 237 acts of persecution over six years and concludes that what began as isolated incidents has hardened into a structured and institutionalized system of repression.
“In El Salvador, people live in fear,” said René Valiente, Cristosal’s investigations director. “Fear of speaking out, fear of expressing themselves, fear of participating politically.”
The report attempts to move beyond rhetoric by establishing criteria for identifying political persecution. “We differentiate between a politician who is imprisoned and a political prisoner — someone who has suffered attacks by the State that materialize through these dynamics of persecution,” Valiente said. “In total, we have identified 245 cases that display these characteristics… the majority, 180 of them, involve criminal proceedings.”
Of those criminal cases, 148 involve environmental defenders, human rights advocates and Indigenous leaders — groups that enjoy special international protection.
Among the cases cited is that of Ruth López, a well-known anti-corruption lawyer and head of Cristosal’s anti-corruption and justice unit. López has been a frequent critic of the Bukele administration, particularly on issues of transparency and judicial independence. She was detained in 2023 and accused of committing alleged administrative irregularities while she served as an aide to former magistrate Eugenio Chicas. Authorities framed the case as financial misconduct.
López and her legal team have denied wrongdoing, arguing that the charges are politically motivated and rely on broad interpretations of criminal statutes. Valiente said López’s case illustrates how prosecutions can follow public criticism.
“The constitutional lawyer Enrique Anaya was detained just four days after appearing in a television interview where he criticized the criminalization of Ruth López,” he said. “This shows how rapidly criticism can be followed by retaliation.”
According to Cristosal, López’s detention followed years of harassment and stigmatization on social media. “Some cases are not sudden,” Valiente said. “They are preceded by threats, smear campaigns and administrative actions that prepare the ground for criminalization.”
The report argues that a key mechanism in these cases is the use of vague criminal statutes, including illicit enrichment and money laundering. “There is abuse of ambiguous charges that do not require significant effort from the State to prove a criminal act,” Valiente said. “That makes it easier to expand prosecution and use criminal law as a tool.”
Researchers describe a layered system of pressure that can begin with online harassment and ethics complaints, escalate to administrative investigations or civil proceedings — a practice often described as lawfare — and culminate in criminal prosecution.
The pattern intensified after May 2021, the report says, when the Legislative Assembly removed Constitutional Chamber magistrates and the attorney general, reshaping the balance of power within the judiciary. Since then, Valiente argues, the justice system has been repurposed.
“The regime does not tolerate critical voices and is using the justice system — which should protect rights — for persecution,” he said.
One recurring pattern identified in the report is the extensive use of pretrial detention, described as a form of “anticipatory punishment.” Preventive detention, researchers argue, has frequently been imposed in cases involving government critics in ways that appear disproportionate to the alleged offenses.
Under international standards, detention must pursue a legitimate purpose and not conceal a political objective. When legal proceedings serve as pretexts to silence opposition, the report argues, they cross into abuse of power.
Beyond individual prosecutions, Cristosal argues that persecution operates within a broader narrative that frames dissenters as threats to national stability. By redefining critics as criminals, political conflict is relocated from the public sphere to the courtroom, creating a chilling effect on expression and civic participation.
“All of these actions are characteristic of authoritarian governments,” Valiente said. “In El Salvador, we are speaking in the strict sense of a dictatorship that controls the judiciary and exercises total control over the courts.”
The findings come against the backdrop of the state of exception, credited by the government with sharply reducing homicide rates. Bukele’s administration maintains that arrests are grounded in law and aimed at dismantling criminal networks. But Valiente argues that repression extends beyond suspected gang members.
“The regime has imprisoned 2% of the adult population without due process safeguards,” he said. “More than 400 people have died in state custody since 2022.”
The report also tracks changes over time. Opposition politicians were heavily targeted in 2021, Valiente said, while persecution of independent critics — lawyers, journalists and activists — has steadily increased through 2025. The arrests of López, Anaya and other high-profile figures this year marked what he described as a renewed spike in criminalization.
For the Morales family and others, the debate is no longer theoretical. Watching a son being detained, transferred and rearrested — even after court orders granting his release — has forced them to confront the personal cost of activism.
In the view of Cristosal’s investigators, the cases of Levi Morales and Ruth López — one a rural Indigenous farmer, the other a nationally known anti-corruption lawyer — illustrate the breadth of what they describe as political persecution. It stretches from remote agricultural communities to the capital’s legal circles, unified by what they say is a common pattern: dissent met with prosecution.
In their view — and in the report’s findings — the price of dissent is measured not only in public criticism, but in court dates, prison cells and the quiet calculation of whether speaking out is still worth the risk.
Key findings of the report:
245 documented victims: The report identifies 245 individuals subjected to political persecution between 2019 and 2025, encompassing 237 documented acts.
Criminalization as the primary tool: Of those cases, 180 involve criminal proceedings, making penal prosecution the dominant mechanism of repression.
Disproportionate impact on defenders: 148 of the criminal cases involve environmental defenders, human rights advocates, Indigenous leaders and others with special international protection.
Three modalities of persecution: Researchers identify extrajudicial harassment (surveillance, threats, smear campaigns), punitive administrative or civil proceedings, and direct criminal prosecution as the main forms of repression.
Use of vague criminal statutes: Authorities frequently rely on broadly worded charges — including illicit associations, illicit enrichment and money laundering — that allow wide prosecutorial discretion.
Extensive pretrial detention: Preventive detention is routinely used, often in ways the report characterizes as “anticipatory (preemptive) punishment.”
Escalation after 2021 judicial overhaul: Persecution intensified following the May 2021 removal of Constitutional Chamber magistrates and the attorney general, described as a turning point in consolidating executive control over the judiciary.
State of exception as enabling framework: Since 2022, emergency powers have expanded detention authority and limited due process safeguards, creating conditions that critics say facilitate abuse.
Broader repressive context: The report notes that approximately 2% of El Salvador’s adult population has been imprisoned during the state of exception and that more than 400 people have died in state custody since 2022.
