In the heart of Central America, nestled in a remote rural area of Tecoluca in El Salvador’s San Vicente Department, stands the Terrorism Confinement Center, or CECOT. Known as the world’s biggest and toughest prison, this sprawling maximum-security facility boasts a capacity of 40,000 inmates, making it the largest prison in Latin America and one of the most formidable globally. Built under the directive of El Salvador’s President Nayib Bukele, CECOT represents a bold and controversial approach to tackling crime, particularly targeting gang members and terrorists. Since its opening in January 2023, it has become a symbol of a no-nonsense strategy that some hail as a model for dealing with the most dangerous criminals, while others criticize it as a human rights nightmare.
A Fortress of Confinement
CECOT’s sheer scale and design are staggering. Covering 23 hectares (57 acres) of land, with an additional 140 hectares (350 acres) controlled by the government around it, the prison was constructed in just seven months at a cost of $100 million. It features eight cell blocks, each containing 32 cells capable of housing an average of 156 inmates—though estimates vary, with some reports suggesting up to 80-100 prisoners per cell. The cells are stark: four-level metal bunks without mattresses or sheets, two toilets, two washbasins, and constant artificial lighting. Prisoners are monitored 24/7 by CCTV cameras and armed guards stationed in 19 guard towers surrounding the facility.
Security is paramount. The prison is encircled by two 9-meter-tall (30-foot), 60-centimeter-thick (24-inch) concrete walls topped with barbed wire, complemented by two electrified fences and gravel flooring designed to amplify the sound of footsteps. This fortress-like structure ensures that escape is virtually impossible, aligning with Bukele’s promise that inmates would never again see “a ray of sunshine.”
Born from a Gang Crackdown
CECOT’s creation is rooted in El Salvador’s aggressive response to rampant gang violence. In March 2022, following a spike in murders that claimed 87 lives over a single weekend, Bukele declared a state of exception, suspending several constitutional rights. This allowed security forces to arrest suspects without warrants and detain them without immediate legal recourse. Over the next seven months, more than 55,000 suspected gang members were rounded up, with the total climbing past 84,000 by early 2025. The existing prison system, already strained, couldn’t handle the influx—prompting the rapid construction of CECOT.
The facility began housing inmates in February 2023, with the first transfer of 2,000 prisoners captured in dramatic footage released by the government. Shirtless, tattooed, and shackled, inmates were shown being marched into their new “home,” a powerful visual of Bukele’s “iron fist” policy. As of June 2024, CECOT held 14,532 inmates, though estimates from late 2024 suggest the population may now range between 10,000 and 20,000. The prison primarily confines members of notorious gangs like MS-13 and Barrio 18, labeled by officials as “the worst of the worst.”
Life Inside CECOT
Life in CECOT is deliberately harsh. Inmates are confined to their cells for 23.5 hours a day, with only 30 minutes allowed outside for exercise, Bible study, or virtual court hearings within the prison. There are no educational programs, recreational activities, visitations, or phone calls—measures designed to sever all ties to the outside world. Meals consist of basic staples like rice, beans, eggs, and pasta, served without utensils to prevent their use as weapons. Solitary confinement cells, equipped only with a concrete bed, toilet, and washbasin, await those who break the strict rules, with stays of up to 15 days.
The conditions are cramped, with each prisoner allotted an average of just 0.6 square meters (6.5 square feet) of space—far below the 3.4 square meters (37 square feet) recommended by international standards like those of the Red Cross. Critics argue this overcrowding, combined with the lack of basic comforts, amounts to inhumane treatment. Yet, Salvadoran officials, including Justice Minister Gustavo Villatoro, defend the approach, vowing that those who enter CECOT “will never leave on foot.”
A Global Spotlight
CECOT has drawn international attention, both for its scale and its implications. In March 2025, the prison made headlines when El Salvador accepted over 200 deportees from the United States—alleged Venezuelan gang members sent by the second Trump administration as part of a $6 million deal to bolster El Salvador’s penitentiary system. Videos of shackled deportees being processed into CECOT underscored its role as a transnational tool in the fight against crime.
Supporters, including U.S. figures like former Representative Matt Gaetz—who called it “the solution” after a 2024 visit—praise CECOT as a deterrent to gang activity. Bukele’s policies have slashed El Salvador’s homicide rate, transforming it from the “murder capital of the world” to a safer nation, a feat that enjoys widespread domestic approval. However, human rights organizations like Cristosal and the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights decry the prison as a “black hole of human rights,” citing over 6,000 reported violations, including torture, arbitrary detentions, and at least 366 deaths in custody since the crackdown began.
A Model or a Warning?
CECOT stands as a polarizing experiment in criminal justice. For proponents, it’s a masterclass in treating terrorists and hardened criminals—lock them away, strip them of influence, and protect society at all costs. Bukele himself has leaned into this narrative, using social media to showcase the prison’s stark conditions and reinforce his image as the “world’s coolest dictator.” The results speak for some: gang violence has plummeted, and many Salvadorans feel safer than they have in decades.
Yet, the cost is undeniable. Reports of innocent people swept up in mass arrests, indefinite detentions without due process, and brutal prison conditions raise serious ethical questions. Critics argue that CECOT sacrifices humanity for security, setting a dangerous precedent for authoritarian control. As one former U.N. official described it, the prison is a “concrete and steel pit” where rehabilitation is an afterthought, and punishment is absolute.
Conclusion
The Terrorism Confinement Center is more than a prison—it’s a statement. With its capacity for 40,000 inmates and its uncompromising design, CECOT embodies El Salvador’s radical shift toward containment over reform. Whether it’s the ultimate solution to crime or a cautionary tale of excess remains a matter of fierce debate. As of April 10, 2025, it continues to grow, a towering testament to a nation determined to bury its violent past, one cell at a time.
