Venezuelans deported to El Salvador prison ‘trapped in nightmare’

The lack of tangible information about his son Oscar, one of the 238 Venezuelans deported by the United States to a maximum security prison in El Salvador, has led Gertrudis Pineda to despair and has left it to the edge of a breakdown.

She explodes in crying at the moment we start talking about Oscar.

“My son only went to look for the American dream and now he is caught in a nightmare,” he sobbed.

Oscar lived in Dallas, Texas. Gertrudis explains that he put carpets in apartments to make a living: “He helped me by sending money to the family and buying medications for his father, who has diabetes.”

Gertrudis is 1,800 km from Oscar, which speaks to me from the suffocating heat of the state of Zulia, in western Venezuela.

Mother and son are separated by six borders and the impenetrable walls of the CECOT, the notorious “terrorism confinement center” of El Salvador, a maximum security prison built to house violent members of the MS-13 and 18th Street gangs.

The United States government accuses Venezuelans detained at the CECOT of being members of the Train de Aragua gang.

The Trump Administration eliminated them from the United States land under the alien enemies law of 1798, without the due legal process, conflicting to the United States Department of Justice with a federal judge who had ordered that the planes that led to migrants turn around.

Gertrudis knew that his son had been collected by American customs and compliance agents (ICE), but understood that he was in Texas and probably on his way to Venezuela.

She only discovered that she had been taken to the saving prison when her other son, who lives in Colombia, saw her name on a list shown on television.

Shortly after, the images of the 238 Venezuelans who shaved their heads were transmitted as they were processed upon arrival at the maximum security CECOT.

Gertrudis could distinguish his son from a tattoo of a rose that he has on his forearm.

“There are so many innocent children there,” says Gertrudis.

“They did nothing wrong, but they treat them as animals. Where are their human rights?” She implies.

The White House insists that those deported to the CECOT were properly examined. Trump administration officials say that all are dangerous members of gangs, although they have recognized in judicial documents that many have no criminal record of the United States.

Although the CECOT is announced as the solution to the problem of gangs in the region by the president of El Salvador, Nayib Bukele, and its supporters, for a long time has been described by activists as “a black hole of human rights.”

Gertrudis is finding that he is also a black hole of information.

She has not had news about her son’s well -being. The last time he saw him, he was shaved, chained and dressed in a white prison shirt and shorts.

She does not know if she keeps it in the same conditions as the Salvadoran prisoners who receive “not a ray of sunlight” as President Bukele said when he first presented the controversial installation with their cells and runners without windows.

Criticisms of the deportation of Venezuelans to Supermax prison have been growing not only in the United States and their homeland, but also in El Salvador.

The Salvadoran immigration expert, Napoleon Campos, believes that the measure is unconstitutional and that the Constitutional Chamber of the Supreme Court of El Salvador “should act.”

“I should declare that bringing these people to El Salvador without having committed any crime in this country exceeds our constitutional limits.”

He says that “anecdotal evidence” is accumulating that a significant portion of the 238 had no criminal record “not in Venezuela or in the United States and much less in El Salvador.”

Mr. Campos believes that the idea of ​​a black hole of rights in El Salvador applies beyond the boundaries of the Cecot, to the nation as a whole.

“El Salvador today is a deep black hole of illegalities, violations of fundamental freedoms and freedoms enshrined under our Constitution and under the Inter -American Convention on Human Rights,” insists Mr. Campos. “There is no other way of saying it.”

The work of negotiating the country’s legal system in the name of imprisoned Venezuelans has fallen to Jaime Ortega, who says he has been hired by the Venezuelan vice president to ensure his release.

“This case is very sad and unheard of in our country,” he explains.

“We have only seen this in times of slavery, when people moved between the place and the place for money. It is not precedents.”

It remains sure that it can ensure the liberation of Venezuelans given the lack of clarity on the terms under which they were taken to the Central American nation: “There seems to be some form of agreement between El Salvador and the United States, the documents that we cannot find, and we do not have.”

He establishes how the Savior had been declared a “third safe country” for immigration purposes, he and others defying deportation could work under that clear legal definition. However, that is not the case.

He believes that, at least, men must be placed in some type of immigration center before an eventual return to Venezuela instead of in a supermax installation designed for members of hardened Salvadoran gangs.

Meanwhile, President Nayib Bukele has strongly rejected all criticism of both CECOT and his broader repression against gangs in El Salvador.

Instead, he points out the changes that his measures have introduced to the saving society.

Three years ago, this week he declared a “state of exception” in the country, under which certain constitutional norms and rights have been suspended.

The measure, originally imposed for a month, has now been extended 35 times by a loyal congress and there are no end signs.

The repression continues to enjoy overwhelming support among Salvadorans, who re -elected the greatly popular president for a landslide last year.

In part, reason can be found in the neighborhoods of San Salvador on October 10.

Previously controlled by the MS-13 gang, it was a strength of one of the most powerful criminals in El Salvador: Elmer Canales Rivera, also known as “Crook”, which is now in prison in the United States.

Simply entering the walk from the collection of back streets at the base of a Junged slope was impossible without the prior approval of the gang.

Even with his approval, it would be an reckless movement. Extortion, violence and intimidation abounded in this community, whose members had a constant fear for their children, their lives and their livelihoods.

The contrast with the quiet calm of a neighborhood now ordinary could not be more marked.

Many walls and even trees have been painted pink and bright green, covering the threatening graffiti of MS-13, and three soldiers are in the shadow with automatic weapons, a sign of Bukele’s safety strategy in action.

“We open this store later (the state of exception came into force),” explains Roxana, who runs a small store that sells soft drinks, food and cheap clothing from his front room.

“Things have changed a lot. We feel calmer having a business and we can stay open late.” The constant demands of gang members for extortion payments have also dried, she says.

However, there is still a generalized culture of silence in the old gang neighborhoods.

Few residents were prepared to give more than monosyllabic responses about life under the gangs, and Roxana did not want to give him his last name or take his photo.

“Many innocent people were also rounded,” he says about the repression of President Bukele. “We know many cases from here. There are still prison people who know they shouldn’t be there. It’s unfair.”

In Cecot, thousands of prisoners have been retained for years, many without trial. For Oscar, only 13 days have passed, but for his mother, Gertrudis, he could well have been a decade.

She is taking care of her eight -year -old son in Venezuela while her father languishes in El Salvador.

She says that identifies with the mothers of Salvadorans who are locked in the CECOT despite the fact that they have discernible gang ties, a situation that was not aware before their own son was arrested there without previous links with the train gang of Aragua for which he is accused of working.

“My son is Venezuelan, not Salvadoran. So, what that president has done is kidnap our children,” says Gertrudis among the sobs.

“If they have carried out a crime, then they should answer for them here in Venezuela.

“They must send them home.”