How does a state or country navigate the complicated process of ethical prison management? As students at Tufts, we’re exposed to rehabilitative programs like Tufts Prison Initiative Program of the Tisch College of Civic Life, which provides incarcerated individuals with access to higher education. In El Salvador, however, a new mass imprisonment confinement center — the Terrorism Confinement Center — has been designated as the optimal way to minimize crime.
In this confinement center, constitutional and basic human rights are neglected. More than 62,000 suspected gang members and collaborators have been detained as a component of President Nayib Bukele’s push for a “new El Salvador.”
Citizens of El Salvador are rightfully torn about the ethics of this confinement center. Since Bukele’s reelection and efforts to craft a “new El Salvador,” crime rates have dropped dramatically. Citizens express that they now feel safe sending their kids to school and allowing their families to roam the streets. However, the country’s improved safety has come with a steep price — the rights of the detained individuals. Bukele and his Congress have declared El Salvador to be in a state of emergency and elected to suspend the constitutional rights of El Salvador’s citizens. As president, Bukele is responsible for the safety of all Salvadoran citizens; his failure to follow through with his promise to do so is an unjust determination about who is deserving of human rights.
The conditions inside the confinement center reflect the harsh attitude Bukele and his Congress have towards the crackdown on gang violence. Each cell holds up to 80 inmates, who are only permitted to leave for 30 minutes a day. They have no sheets, no pillows, no mattresses and no visitation time with families and friends. These conditions are not just constitutional rights violations, but human rights violations.
The question is: Why doesn’t the confinement center offer basic human necessities like comfort, social connection, interaction with the outdoors or, arguably just as important, opportunities for rehabilitation? Gustavo Villatoro, El Salvador’s public security minister, has an answer: “We believe in rehab, but just for common criminals.”
Since I’ve never lived in or visited El Salvador, I cannot fully grasp the quality of everyday life before and after Bukele implemented his plans for the “new El Salvador.” However, I hold the perspective that even prisoners deserve the most fundamental rights, like a pillow and sheet for a cold metal bed. Furthermore, I believe that rehabilitative programs create positive changes for the lives of incarcerated individuals that outlast the effects of their sentence.
Programs like TUPIT are essential in making lasting changes to a country. TUPIT is dedicated to combat the precise mass criminalization that is currently occurring in El Salvador. By giving incarcerated individuals the opportunity to earn associate and bachelor’s degrees, TUPIT allows for more seamless reentry into society. Formal education in prison reduces recidivism, a person’s relapse into criminal behavior, by at least 43%. Furthermore, individuals are much more likely to find employment after release, making college education programming an essential factor in changing the future of incarcerated individuals.
Although U.S. prison conditions are subpar and post-release rehabilitation is minimal, programs like TUPIT plant the seed for a greater shift in how we view and effectively support incarcerated individuals.
Confinement centers like the Terrorism Confinement Center in El Salvador raise ethical debates for both their affected citizens and outside observers like me; I find it appalling that human beings are denied basic rights. When comparing this center to impactful rehabilitative programs like TUPIT, I’m struck by the stark differences in attitudes towards incarcerated individuals in the United States and El Salvador. If confinement centers like this continue to exist, they should make an effort to treat their prisoners fairly and with humanity.
