Exclusive: Locking eyes with mass murderers in El Salvador

CNN goes inside the El Salvador prison that houses gang members who once terrorized the country and are blamed as the “worst of the worst.”

Sunlight pours into the cavernous building. A towering ceiling and polished floor give the look of a railway station or airplane hangar. But the air is still and intensely claustrophobic. Down the long sides of the hall are large built-in cages, each containing dozens of men staring out. This is Cecot — El Salvador’s Terrorism Confinement Center — and the men are known as the “worst of the worst.” Mass murderers, drug dealers and gangsters, they are accused of once holding El Salvador hostage, gripping the nation with fear as they ruled cities and streets. Today, they are stripped of freedom, influence, and individuality. And they may never get them back. Each wears a simple white T-shirt and shorts. Some have white socks and sandals. Their heads have been shaved and some have tattoos covering their faces. Many stand confidently, even defiantly, arms crossed within a few feet of the floor-to-ceiling bars, trying to get a better look at us. Others sit cross-legged and motionless on four-tiered metal bunks that line the cells. And still others are at the back, looking down or away from us, wearing face masks, as if they want to avoid being seen on camera or to catch our eyes, almost ashamed. We are the only outsiders here, granted exclusive access and a private tour as the first major US news organization allowed inside Cecot late last month. Opened less than two years ago, it is already an iconic feature of the “new El Salvador” of President Nayib Bukele. Under his strongman rule, the Central American nation has been transformed. Once the “murder capital” of the world, it is now far safer and family life and businesses have returned to the streets. But the ruthless cleaning up of those streets and merciless treatment of gang members have triggered outrage and concern among human rights organizations, which have condemned Cecot as inhumane and unacceptable. The hard-hearted treatment of men is on full display throughout Cecot. Each of the more than two dozen group cells we see in Sector 4 are built to hold 80 or so inmates. The only furniture is tiered metal bunks, with no sheets, pillows or mattresses. There’s an open toilet, a cement basin and plastic bucket for washing and a large jug for drinking water. The cells are meticulously clean — an intentional and stark contrast to the dingy and squalid prisons of El Salvador’s past. The men are inside these cells for 23½ hours a day. They do not work. They are not allowed books or a deck of cards or letters from home. Plates of food are stacked outside the cells at mealtimes and pulled through the bars. No meat is ever served. The 30-minute daily respite is merely to leave the cell for the central hallway for group exercise or Bible readings.