Photo credit, AFP via Getty Images
“We ended the gangs in El Salvador, and we can end you too.”
This is the warning that President Nayib Bukele addressed to the leaders of criminal groups in Haiti, after the kidnapping, on October 18, of four Salvadoran aeronautical technicians who were part of a multinational force.
It has since sent 2,000 troops to the Caribbean country to bolster search and rescue operations; these troops now patrol the outskirts of the capital, Port-au-Prince.
"This is not an operation against the Haitian people, nor an invasion of Haiti. We are not a great power. We have no interest in dominating the Haitian people, nor in appropriating Haiti's wealth," Bukele wrote on social media.
In El Salvador, Bukele led a war against gangs that led to a drastic reduction in violence in his country, thanks to a relentless policy of toughness and mass incarcerations — an approach that earned him criticism for potential human rights violations.
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Today, part of this strategy is being transposed to Haiti, arguably the most dangerous country in Latin America, where the state seems incapable of controlling powerful criminal groups.
“We experienced the same suffering that Haiti is enduring today,” Bukele said last week.
“We know what that means: living in fear, not trusting politicians, not believing anyone who promises to help you. Because no one came to help us, and those who came did not have good intentions,” he said.
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This is why he asked Haitians to “trust” him. “We came to Haiti to fight the criminals,” he added. On BBC Mundo, we spoke with Romain Le Cour Grandmaison, director of the Haiti Observatory within the Global Initiative against Transnational Organized Crime (GI-TOC). He took stock of what we know about the gangs that control the area where the four Salvadorans disappeared, and how these groups compare to Mara Salvatrucha (MS-13) and Barrio 18 — organizations under which El Salvador has lived for decades.
We also asked him about the questions surrounding the military deployment, the major challenge he currently faces, and the potential risks and gains for Bukele.
Photo credit, Courtesy of Romain Le Cour Grandmaison
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President Bukele has warned the leaders of criminal organizations in Haiti that just as he ended gangs in his own country, he is capable of doing the same to them. Is this model reproducible?
It is a statement that has a strong political impact, but it is important to distinguish two things.
What is presented as the "Bukele model" corresponds to what was implemented in El Salvador: a process of mass incarceration within a prison system designed specifically for this purpose. What he is currently undertaking in Haiti is of another nature: it involves deployment and a military operation in a third country.
Perhaps it will ultimately be a “new Bukele model” or a “second Bukele model”. It is possible that the Haitian government, in a week, a month or a year, will ask Bukele to deploy his initial model — the one he applied in El Salvador.
But, as things currently stand, this is not the case, and these two debates should not be confused.
What I think is important to emphasize is that this is an unprecedented approach — for him, for El Salvador and, to a large extent, for Latin America.
It has been extremely rare for decades for a Latin American country to deploy forces to conduct combat operations in another country in the hemisphere, outside of a United Nations peacekeeping mission. The current situation is therefore quite exceptional.
What are the similarities and, above all, the differences between the gangs of these two countries?
While they share practices such as territorial control, extortion and violence against the population, the differences are profound. The most powerful Haitian criminal groups — around twenty — are more akin to armed militias.
These are groups with large numbers, equipped with semi-automatic weapons, which control immense territories: hundreds of square kilometers – almost 90% of the capital, according to the UN – as well as part of the provinces. In some of these areas, the police have not entered for five years. They govern these territories, collect taxes, control the country's roads and main port infrastructure, and are integrated into political and economic networks that support them.
Their origin is also different. MS-13 and Barrio 18 were born in Los Angeles and arrived in El Salvador in the wake of deportations in the 1990s, after the civil war.
In Haiti, many of these groups emerged or developed with the support of political and economic actors who used them to serve their own interests.
Thus, if the Salvadoran deployment manages to retake certain territories and arrest or neutralize certain leaders, two scenarios can emerge.
The first possibility is to see happen what we generally observe in Latin America: when we “decapitate” a criminal group, two others emerge. There was one problem, now there are two.
The second is that this deployment allows a real improvement in security. However, the political-economic crime that supports these groups would remain intact.
This is where the problem lies with the big speeches advocating an "iron fist" in the war against crime, in Haiti as elsewhere: the situation is presented as a war, a case of killings. However, if such an approach were effective, Latin America would not be in the state it is in today, after 60 years of the "war on drugs."
How many people are estimated to make up these groups? What training and weaponry do they have? And how does their combat capability compare to that of a regular army?
They are estimated to have a total membership of between 15,000 and 20,000, although this figure varies depending on the groups and alliances at the time.
In five years, they went from small arms and shotguns to semi-automatic 5.56mm and, increasingly, 7.62mm rifles in large quantities.
A significant portion comes from purchases made in the United States, then introduced into Haiti through trafficking networks. Another significant portion comes from the diversion of official stocks of the Haitian police, the Haitian army and the Dominican security forces, with the complicity of corruption networks on both sides of the border.
Faced with a regular army, in theory superior in all respects, the advantage of criminal groups lies in their perfect knowledge of the terrain, street by street and district by district.
They set up trenches, walls, barricades and traps. They are mobile; they know how to move, hide and retreat towards allied territories, only to return once the pressure has subsided.
Tactically, this is akin to urban guerrilla warfare — an extremely complex type of combat, even for the most sophisticated armies — that takes place in densely populated neighborhoods where civilians remain trapped.
Security forces, for their part, have little intelligence, and what they do have is often of poor quality.
However, the real capacity of these groups remains little tested. They have almost never been confronted with intense, coordinated and sustained operations over several weeks.
Police attempted such an approach briefly in late 2025, and the Gang Suppression Force [GSF, the multilateral force to which the missing Salvadoran military personnel belong] is only in its infancy. No one knows for sure how they would react to prolonged pressure.
How can we explain that they managed to take control of a large part of the capital and its surroundings?
By three combined factors.
The collapse of the State, marked by an outdated police force, a paralyzed justice system, prisons emptied in 2024 and an absence of public authority in large areas.
The support of political, economic and, in some cases, security actors, who have used these groups according to their own interests — as documented in the latest report of the UN Panel of Experts.
And a constant flow of weapons and ammunition.
Added to this was a late and, for years, insufficient international response.
What do we know concretely about the groups that control the area where the Salvadoran soldiers disappeared?
The ambush took place in Santo, in Croix-des-Bouquets, a territory controlled by “Chen Mechan”, with the participation of the “400 Mawozo” gang. These two entities are among the most powerful groups in the country.
Especially the “400 Mawozo”, who have pursued a very vigorous territorial expansion strategy in recent years.
Led by Wilson Joseph, alias "Lanmò San Jou", this group already controlled a vast territory on the outskirts of Port-au-Prince - an area on the border between urban and rural - but it extended its influence to the point of controlling access and the road axis leading to the Dominican Republic.
Thanks to this control, the group was able to establish a system of systematic extortion on everything that passes through this axis, which provides it with considerable financial resources.
But above all, he became a middleman in the trafficking of weapons from the Dominican Republic — relying on accomplices on both sides of the border — both for his own use and for resale to other gangs.
How many forces are fighting these groups today?
It is a sort of mosaic made up of all kinds of forces, both public and private.
Five structures operate in the country: the Haitian National Police; the Armed Forces of Haiti, still embryonic; the Gang Suppression Force (GSF); the “Task Force”, which includes contract workers from the private military company Vectus Global; and, now, the Salvadoran contingent.
To these are added para-public groups as well as self-defense groups present in various neighborhoods and rural areas.
It is difficult to put forward a precise figure for the total.
What is certain, however, is that strategic coordination is very limited, particularly between the public forces themselves.
Each actor operates according to its own mandate, its own chain of command and its own rules of engagement, without common planning. It is an orchestra without a conductor.
What role does Vectus Global, the company of Erik Prince, the founder of Blackwater, play in Haiti?
It has been operating in Haiti since March 2025, under contract with the Haitian government.
Prince told the press that he had a 10-year contract, which would eventually include a mission linked to the collection of customs revenue.
Its most visible activity consists of drone attacks: Human Rights Watch has recorded more than 1,200 deaths during these operations between March 2025 and January 2026, including children.
Regarding financing, no information is public: neither the amount, nor the conditions, nor the origin of the funds have been made transparent.
As for effectiveness, the results are mediocre. In some 18 months, and despite the use of drones, helicopters and special forces operators, no high-profile criminal leaders have been neutralized or captured, while the groups have continued to expand their grip.
This perfectly illustrates the limits of firepower when it is not backed up by strategy.
What do the soldiers sent by Bukele bring, in this context?
Before the ambush, El Salvador provided the GSF with approximately 125 aviation personnel, assigned to medical evacuations.
Today, it has more than 2,000 troops on the ground — including special forces, marines, infantry and support personnel — and this figure is expected to rise to around 2,500. This corresponds to the GSF's total strength before the surge.
Who will they be accountable to? Under what command do they operate?
This is one of the big unknowns.
A bilateral agreement, akin to a Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA), was reportedly approved on October 28, but its terms have not been made public.
The Haitian government mentions cooperation “within the framework of the GSF”, without further details, while the Salvadoran communication makes no mention of the GSF.
Since then, the United Nations has clarified that the vast majority of Salvadoran soldiers are not deployed under the auspices of the GSF and that they are, therefore, outside its mandate.
The question is no longer just under whose command they operate, but who will be held responsible if something goes wrong.
Furthermore, their rules of engagement, their objectives and the duration of their deployment are not known to the public.
If these Salvadoran troops end up being integrated into a common, coordinated public security strategy, perhaps they could make a real difference, because additional troops are indeed needed. If they act on their own, they will unfortunately only add cacophony and chaos to an already dysfunctional strategy.
Accumulating troops does not constitute a strategy: no one has yet specified what objectives these forces must achieve together, nor how the reconquered territories will be kept under control.
And what is their biggest challenge?
Their main challenge is their lack of knowledge of the terrain.
They don't speak Creole. They know nothing about local actors, alliances between groups and rivalries; it will therefore be very difficult for them to distinguish members of criminal groups from a civilian population trapped in combat zones.
They also do not have their own intelligence networks and rely on information of uneven quality. In an urban combat context, such a disadvantage can prove decisive.
Furthermore, these criminal groups control — or are active over — such a vast territory that the forces confronting them cannot be present everywhere simultaneously. Because these gangs, which once clashed, operate, if I understand correctly, as a sort of conglomerate.
Is this really the case?
Yes. The “Viv Ansanm” coalition — which means “Living together” in Haitian Creole — was officially announced in February 2024.
Each group is part of the coalition, but retains its territory and the right to manage it as it wishes – in short, its sovereignty – without any obligation to defend its allies.
As for resources, they belong to everyone. If one group makes 100 through extortion and another makes 10, they are under no obligation to share those earnings.
There was, however, within the coalition, a non-aggression pact authorizing movement in the territory of other gangs, the sharing of information and the coordination of joint offensives.
However, over the past six or seven months, the coalition has fragmented considerably; Clashes broke out between the gangs, to the point that several leaders declared that they were no longer part of them.
The big question now is whether these offensives will bring out a common enemy, pushing the gangs to reactivate the coalition and fight together, or whether they will say to themselves: "I'm not going to die for you. If the Salvadorans go after the 400 Mawozo and Chen Mechan, that's not my problem."
There is a third possibility: that other groups open diversionary fronts in other areas of the capital to relieve their allies. No one knows, at present, whether these forces are capable of fighting on several fronts simultaneously.
In recent days, Lanmò San Jou wrote to the UN Secretary General to demand dialogue and mediation, while distancing himself from the attack and pointing the finger at Chen Mechan.
This is a sign that the pressure is being felt, but it is also a strategic maneuver aimed at reducing the group's exposure and obtaining some form of recognition. This also confirms that, under duress, each group begins to play its own card. Dialogue should not be a taboo: in Haiti, contacts with gang leaders take place daily - although they are systematically denied - but they serve above all to resolve logistical issues, and not to resolve the crisis or deliver justice.
Dialogue does not mean impunity or amnesty. On the contrary, this requires justice, as well as a real framework, led by the Haitian authorities.
In a message addressed to the Haitian population, Bukele asked that they trust him, assuring: "We are not here to do business. Nobody pays us." How do you interpret this?
What is interesting is that, to the extent that he communicates a lot - unlike the Haitian government which communicates very little - Bukele appears today as the most visible voice of security strategy in Haiti.
He explains what is going to happen, almost pre-addressing concerns: "This is not an invasion; I have not come to do business, nor to kill you, honest citizens. I have come to do the work that no one else does for you."
There is something very powerful in the way he speaks directly to the people to gain their support.
And how was this received in Haiti?
There is a tendency to say that in Haiti, the population would be ready to accept any solution to get rid of gangs, as the frustration with the government and the security forces is great, against a backdrop of inaction and a feeling of abandonment.
In short: “No matter the level of violence, do something.” Part of the population, and even certain analysts and Haitian organizations, share this message.
But I think in reality the situation is more complex and there is great skepticism.
Haitians regularly receive these kinds of promises, which they do not believe. Furthermore, they know perfectly well what such operations entail, how bloody they can be and what price civilians risk paying.
On a tactical level, this deployment could work: gang leaders in the area are worried – they have never been confronted with such firepower – and the troops could retake territory, thus offering respite to the population, even to the police and the GSF.
No one can oppose the restoration of security. The question is to know at what cost and for how long, in the absence of justice, public services and without the Haitian State really assuming its responsibilities. That said, if the Salvadorans manage to arrest or neutralize one, two or three high-profile gang leaders, it could give them considerable political capital and recognition.
In this regard, what do we know about the operation carried out since October 18 and what are the results?
In terms of results, little is known. The four Salvadorans are officially still missing: on October 24, human remains were discovered – they have not yet been identified – but Bukele affirms that they are not his men.
The actions undertaken so far closely resemble what has been happening in Haiti for three years, with almost weekly announcements of offensives and decisive turning points.
On the other hand, the impact on the civilian population is well documented. The IOM (International Organization for Migration) recorded at least 2,000 displaced people, while MSF (Médecins Sans Frontières) treated dozens of people injured by bullets or explosions caused by drones, and had to suspend its mobile clinics.
In just a few days, the use of drones, attack helicopters and heavy weapons radically transformed the situation on the ground. Escalation is critical.
Furthermore, a risk looms for the future: when neighborhoods are suddenly and partially reopened, the risks of lynchings and reprisals increase, as does the risk of seeing self-defense brigades take control, designating certain residents as accomplices of the gangs.
In addition, humanitarian organizations face obstacles in providing aid and support to the population in the area.
Dissociating the humanitarian response from demobilization would be a mistake.
It is within these very neighborhoods that a way out must be offered to those who wish to leave the groups, starting with enlisted children.
The National Commission for Disarmament, Dismantling and Reintegration (CNDDR) exists, but while thousands of soldiers put pressure on the strongholds of these groups, no mechanism is operational.
It is undoubtedly the civilians who have the most to lose, but what risks does Bukele run?
The risk is real, and it does not only come from Haiti. Over the past 70 years, there have been numerous examples of powerful, trained armies operating in urban or rural environments against small, agile groups who know the terrain perfectly; these armies end up falling into a trap from which they never manage to escape.
Il existe un risque que la situation ne devienne extrêmement sanglante et très coûteuse pour les troupes salvadoriennes, et que, faute de résultats sur le terrain, l'opération ne se solde par un échec.
Il y a, par ailleurs, la question du coût. Bukele affirme que le Salvador prend en charge 90 % des frais, mais pour combien de temps ? Un déploiement d'un mois n'est pas comparable à un déploiement d'un an.
Enfin, on peut imaginer un risque politique interne [au Salvador] : que la population lui demande des comptes en lançant : "Pourquoi avez-vous envoyé nos enfants mourir en Haïti ?"
Il a lui-même répondu, via un tweet, aux critiques qui affirment que cela pourrait constituer son "Waterloo" [en référence à la célèbre bataille de 1815 où Napoléon fut vaincu]. Mais pourquoi, selon vous, a-t-il décidé de prendre ce risque ?
Cette décision peut répondre à plusieurs impératifs : la nécessité de réagir, la volonté de démontrer aux citoyens salvadoriens que, quoi qu'il arrive, l'État prendra soin de ses soldats et ramènera les disparus, ainsi que le désir de hisser la coopération avec les États-Unis à un niveau supérieur, en prouvant qu'El Salvador est capable d'assumer un tel leadership dans la région.
El Salvador a pris une part active aux opérations de sécurité en Haïti, dans le cadre des Nations unies. Le pays a toujours été très impliqué dans les déploiements en Haïti.
Il a même été l'un des premiers pays, au sein de la Mission multinationale d'appui à la sécurité (MMAS), à annoncer une augmentation de son contingent — probablement grâce aux bonnes relations qu'il entretient avec le gouvernement américain.
Il pourrait s'agir, de la part de Bukele, d'un pari politique : démontrer qu'il n'est pas seulement un acteur national, mais une figure bien plus influente à l'échelle de l'hémisphère, où son modèle jouit d'une grande popularité.
Le média américain Axios a rapporté qu'avant d'envoyer des renforts en Haïti, Bukele aurait appelé Donald Trump. Le président américain a confirmé cet échange, précisant lui avoir dit : "Vous avez un sérieux problème avec Haïti. Faites ce que vous avez à faire". Et lorsqu'un journaliste lui a demandé si les États-Unis envisageaient d'apporter une aide, il a répondu : "[Bukele] n'a pas besoin d'aide."
Quel rôle, selon vous, jouent les États-Unis dans tout cela ?
Il existe des signes tangibles de l'implication américaine, notamment le soutien logistique aérien pour acheminer les troupes vers Haïti.
On perçoit toutefois une certaine prudence, voire un certain silence, de la part de l'administration américaine lorsqu'il s'agit de commenter officiellement le cadre de cette intervention — alors même que les États-Unis ont été, et demeurent, le principal moteur de cette mission multinationale. Les États-Unis sont le principal moteur de la GSF, mais ils ne comptent aucun effectif au sein de cette force multilatérale.
Pas du tout. Dans une certaine mesure, ce déploiement s'inscrit dans une logique où les États-Unis agissent par l'intermédiaire d'alliés régionaux.
Reste à voir si cela s'intégrera ou non dans une approche plus coordonnée.
Vous avez souligné le caractère inédit de la situation. Pourrait-elle servir de modèle de sécurité pour l'hémisphère ?
Si elle permet d'obtenir des résultats jugés positifs — y compris par le gouvernement haïtien —, il est fort probable qu'elle devienne un modèle.
Toutefois, l'expérience passée en Haïti — avec la MINUSTAH [la mission de stabilisation des Nations unies déployée en 2004], par exemple — est sans équivoque : si des victoires territoriales ont bien été remportées, l'absence de justice et d'action contre les réseaux qui soutiennent ces groupes a conduit à une résurgence de la crise, avec encore plus de vigueur.
Reprendre le contrôle de territoires sans instaurer la justice ne peut durer.
Crédit photo, Anadolu vía Getty Images
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