Every morning at the Instituto Nacional Tecnico Industrial in San Salvador, Principal Oscar Melara takes up his post at the school’s front gate. He’s not just there to greet students—he’s on the lookout for any breach of a new, much stricter dress code. Shirts must display the school’s monogram and a name tag, shoes have to be spotless, and haircuts are under close scrutiny. Any student whose appearance doesn’t measure up risks more than a verbal warning; they could see their grades docked or be assigned community service. It’s all part of a sweeping directive from El Salvador’s newly appointed education minister, military captain Karla Trigueros, who has brought a distinctly martial approach to the nation’s classrooms.
The new regulations, announced on August 20, 2025, mark a dramatic tightening of discipline across El Salvador’s public schools, affecting more than 5,100 institutions nationwide. According to Reuters, the rules go well beyond previous dress codes, which were often ignored or only loosely enforced. Now, principals are required to personally greet students at the school gates each morning, ensuring that every child arrives in a “clean and tidy uniform” with an “appropriate haircut”—for boys, that means closely cropped hair. Students must approach the entrance in an orderly fashion, greet their teachers respectfully, and maintain a posture of discipline as they enter.
“We thank the minister, because this allows us to correct and better our students,” Melara told Reuters, reflecting the support among some administrators for the new guidelines. Local media outlets have shown videos of barbershops with lines snaking out the door, as students rushed to comply before the start of the new school week. Some shops even offered discounts to capitalize on the sudden surge in demand for haircuts, especially as styles like the mohawk and the trendy “Edgar cut”—a bowl-like hairstyle popular among young Latinos—have been explicitly banned.
Minister Trigueros, who often tours schools in a slicked-back bun and military fatigues, made it clear in her memorandum that compliance is not optional. “Failure to comply with these provisions by principals will be considered a serious breach of administrative responsibility,” she warned. In a message published on the social network X (formerly Twitter), she insisted on “strict compliance” with the new disciplinary rules, describing them as essential for “strengthening discipline, order, and the personal presentation of the student community.”
The changes don’t stop at uniforms and haircuts. Trigueros’ latest memorandum also mandated weekly “Civic Mondays” at every school throughout the academic year. These half-hour ceremonies are designed to bolster national identity and civic values, featuring the entrance and removal of the Salvadoran flag, the singing of the national anthem, a prayer to the flag, and a student presentation on a historical figure or event. To help schools cover the costs—flags, gloves for flag bearers, and other supplies—each institution will receive $300 (about €255), according to official statements reported by Deutsche Welle.
President Nayib Bukele, who appointed Trigueros as education minister on August 14, has been vocal in his support for the reforms. On X, he reposted messages cheering the new guidelines, asserting that a complete educational overhaul is necessary to build “the El Salvador we dream of.” Bukele’s administration is already known for its tough stance on crime, having launched an aggressive crackdown on gangs that has slashed violence to historic lows. Many Salvadoran schools, previously plagued by gang harassment, have welcomed the increased sense of safety that’s come with Bukele’s policies.
But not everyone is applauding. Teachers’ unions and rights groups have sounded the alarm, warning of what they see as the creeping militarization of education. The Salvadoran Teachers’ Front, one of the country’s largest unions, called Trigueros’ appointment “absurd” and said it harkens back to the dark days of military dictatorship. “We are concerned that the already exorbitant abuses of power against students will increase,” the union said in a statement, adding that “workplace abuses against teachers will increase even further.”
The criticism isn’t limited to the education sector. According to Reuters and Deutsche Welle, Bukele’s government has faced mounting accusations of authoritarianism. His party recently passed a constitutional reform scrapping presidential term limits—a move that critics say could pave the way for Bukele to remain in power indefinitely. Last month, the prominent anti-corruption organization Cristosal announced it was leaving El Salvador, citing “escalating repression” as the reason for its departure.
Some educators, however, see merit in the new approach, even if they don’t agree with every detail. Paz Zetino Gutiérrez, secretary of the El Salvador Public School Teachers Union, voiced support for the push toward greater order and discipline but argued that existing laws protecting children sometimes make it difficult for teachers to enforce rules. “Many teachers, in a desire to achieve order and discipline in schools, were reported and many were punished,” Gutiérrez said, suggesting that the pendulum may have swung too far in favor of student rights at the expense of classroom authority.
For many parents and students, the changes have been jarring. Social media is awash with videos of students having their hair shorn, and some have expressed frustration at the suddenness and severity of the new rules. Yet others, recalling the chaos and fear that once reigned in gang-controlled neighborhoods, say they understand the need for order—even if it comes with a military edge.
Underlying the debate is a broader question about the direction of Salvadoran society. Bukele’s administration has positioned itself as a force for stability and modernization, promising to sweep away the corruption and violence that have long plagued the country. But the methods—especially the increasing reliance on military personnel in civilian roles—have sparked unease among those who remember the abuses of El Salvador’s past.
As the dust settles on the first week of the new school year, one thing is clear: the battle over El Salvador’s classrooms is about more than just haircuts and uniforms. It’s a microcosm of the country’s ongoing struggle to define its identity, its values, and the balance between order and freedom. Whether the new rules will lead to better schools—or simply more tension—remains to be seen. But for now, every student who walks through the school gates knows that the eyes of authority are watching, and the consequences for stepping out of line are more serious than ever before.