Hundreds of Venezuelan migrants deported from the United States to El Salvador have reported severe mistreatment in a maximum-security prison designed for gang members. These detainees, many accused without evidence of gang involvement, endured harsh living conditions, violence, and limited contact with family or legal counsel during their time at the Centro de Confinamiento del Terrorismo (CECOT). Recently released in a prisoner exchange, some have come forward to share their experiences.
Carlos Daniel Terán, 19, recalls the words spoken to him by a prison warden upon his arrival at El Salvador’s maximum-security facility, CECOT.
“He told us we would never leave this place,” Terán said.
This occurred in March of this year, when Terán was transferred from a Texas immigration detention centre to the Centro de Confinamiento del Terrorismo (CECOT), a prison designed primarily for accused gang members. The prison has a grim reputation, with El Salvador’s justice minister once stating the only exit was “inside a coffin.”
Terán was among hundreds of Venezuelans deported to El Salvador under the Trump administration, many under the seldom-used 1798 Alien Enemies Act. They were accused—without evidence of being members of the Venezuelan gang Tren de Aragua. For nearly four months, the US government withheld their identities and prevented them from contacting family members or legal representatives.
Just over a week ago, Terán was released alongside more than 250 other Venezuelan detainees in a prisoner exchange between the US and Venezuela.
“I believed this would be the end of my life,” Terán told NPR from Caracas. “I thought I was going to die there.”
Harsh prison conditions
Since their release, NPR has spoken with Terán and two other former detainees about their experiences in CECOT. They described enduring violence, including sexual abuse in some cases, inadequate food provision, and overall inhumane conditions.
NPR has been following Terán’s case since his detention by ICE in Texas in February. He had entered the US legally through the Biden-era CBP One programme and has no criminal record in the US. He denies any gang affiliation, with prior offences limited to minor charges in Chile related to gun possession and small-scale drug possession.
Like Terán, other Venezuelans deported to El Salvador have also denied any links to Tren de Aragua.
Terán, who describes himself as a man of faith, found his time in CECOT particularly challenging.
“I felt very sad — I spent my birthday there, and it was difficult not to hear from my family,” he said.
Inside CECOT, prisoners were rarely allowed out of their cells. The diet mainly consisted of beans, tortillas, and rice. Toilets frequently became blocked, and there was no air conditioning despite the hot, humid climate.
Bathing was limited to once a day in water pumped into two cement tanks in the cells, at times set by prison staff. There were no partitions to separate bathing areas or toilets from the rest of the cell.
Prisoners slept on metal planks arranged as bunk beds, without mattresses, blankets, or pillows. Terán said he spent the four months sleeping sitting up.
However, Terán and other former inmates say the most distressing aspect was the violence inflicted by guards.
Abuse and violence inside CECOT
Andry Hernandez, another detainee released recently, told NPR that guards routinely beat prisoners with batons or dragged them to a small, windowless cell known as “La Isla” (“The Island”), where abuse was more severe.
Prisoners were taken to “La Isla” for complaints about conditions, bathing outside permitted times, or making too much noise.
Hernandez, 32, who is openly gay, recalled being beaten by three masked guards and forced to perform oral sex on one of them after bathing outside designated hours. He was returned to his cell after several hours.
“CECOT was like hell on earth,” Hernandez said from Capacho, Venezuela, where he has reunited with his family.
CECOT opened in January 2023 as part of President Nayib Bukele’s anti-gang campaign. The prison remains largely inaccessible to outside observers, with its image managed through official videos and staged visits from government officials, including US Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem. The Venezuelans released last week are among the first to speak openly about conditions inside.
According to the former inmates, no books were available except for Bibles. Prisoners were occasionally allowed out to play football in the corridors or attend prayer sessions led by an evangelical inmate. Hernandez said detainees passed time by chatting or playing dominoes and parchis using pieces fashioned from their lunch tortillas.
“The guards wanted complete silence,” Hernandez said. “But for us, that was difficult, as Venezuelans are naturally cheerful, used to joking and shouting, even under difficult circumstances.”
Protests and hunger strikes
Andres Morales, another detainee from western Venezuela, told NPR the beatings started immediately upon arrival. Guards informed him he was “condemned for life.”
During their first month, the Venezuelan prisoners organised a three-day hunger strike demanding contact with family and information on their cases, but received no response. Later, a “blood strike” protest followed.
Terán and Hernandez confirmed Morales’ account.
“Some prisoners removed clamps from pipes to cut themselves,” Hernandez said. Blood was smeared on the walls with the letters “SOS” written.
Diplomatic and human rights concerns
The Trump administration reportedly paid El Salvador $6 million to house the Venezuelan detainees, accusing them of being part of Tren de Aragua.
The Department of Homeland Security did not address the specific allegations but reiterated the gang affiliation claims without providing evidence.
“Once again, the media is defending criminal gang members,” DHS Assistant Secretary Tricia McLaughlin stated in an email to NPR. “There is too much focus on the stories of gang members and not enough on their victims.”
A spokesperson for the Salvadoran government did not respond to requests for comment.
Noah Bullock, executive director of Cristosal, a Salvadoran human rights organisation, said the described beatings and conditions constitute torture. He suggested that transferring detainees without notifying families or lawyers may amount to forced disappearance.
“These individuals were never tried or convicted and were sent to a third country to be held indefinitely in a maximum-security prison,” Bullock said. “This represents clear violations of due process.”
Cristosal investigated 160 of the 252 Venezuelans sent to El Salvador, also interviewing their families. The organisation found fewer than 10% had criminal records.
Bullock also noted that around 400 prisoners have died in Salvadoran custody since March 2022, when President Bukele declared a state of exception suspending key due process rights, allowing authorities to detain suspects for extended periods without notifying relatives or lawyers.
“We were treated like bargaining chips,” Hernandez said. “I don’t understand why Bukele offered his prisons to detain migrants who had never been to his country.”
