This week, a new chapter in El Salvador’s ongoing transformation unfolded at school gates across the country. Principals, standing tall and attentive, greeted students not just with a warm “buenos días,” but with a keen eye for haircuts and the crispness of uniforms. It’s not just about looking sharp—this is the latest front in President Nayib Bukele’s campaign to instill discipline in schools, an effort that’s drawn both applause and criticism as it ripples through classrooms, homes, and barbershops nationwide.
On Monday, August 18, 2025, Education Minister Karla Trigueros—a figure as striking for her Army fatigues as for her directness—sent a memo to every school principal. The message was clear: stand at the school gate, inspect each student for a clean, neat uniform, an “appropriate” haircut, and a formal greeting. The stakes? High. According to the memo, failing to uphold these standards would be deemed a “serious lack of administrative responsibility.” As reported by the Associated Press, these rules had long been on the books, but enforcement had been sporadic at best—until now.
President Bukele, who has shifted from the casual look of baseball caps and jeans in his first term to a more formal style in his second, amplified the directive by sharing Trigueros’ memo on X (formerly Twitter). He declared, “To build the El Salvador we dream of, it’s clear we must completely transform our educational system.” The president’s words, echoing across social media, signaled that this was about more than just dress codes—it was about the very fabric of Salvadoran society.
The impact was immediate and visible. Across El Salvador, barbershops saw lines out the door as boys lined up for neat, high and tight haircuts. Social media buzzed with videos of students—some sheepish, others resigned—having their hair trimmed to regulation length. The message was clear: comply, or risk being called out at the school gate.
On Thursday, August 21, parents gathered outside schools, some chatting, others watching nervously as their children filed into line for inspection. María Barrera, standing outside Concha Viuda de Escalon school, shared her support with reporters: “I feel like it’s good, that’s how you straighten them out from a young age.” Another mother, María Segovia, admitted she hadn’t known about the new rules until her son came home—"clean, though a little hairy." She added, “I took him to the barber today. We’re going to comply because it’s good.”
For many families, compliance wasn’t just a matter of discipline—it was a matter of safety and order. Ramon Valladares, a parent, referenced El Salvador’s troubled past, when powerful gangs recruited children from schools and teachers hesitated to enforce discipline for fear of reprisal. “Now that the government is putting things in order, maybe people might not like it, right? But there are some families like ours who are open-minded about any situation. So for me, it’s great.”
The government’s crackdown on gangs has been nothing short of sweeping. According to the Associated Press, more than 88,000 people suspected of gang ties have been imprisoned under Bukele’s administration. Schools, once seen as fertile ground for gang recruitment, have become a new battleground in the fight for social stability. In June 2025 alone, more than 40 students were arrested at three public schools in San Salvador for alleged gang-related activities—a stark reminder of the stakes involved.
Not everyone has found the new policy easy to navigate. One student, who identified himself only as Juan, was pulled out of line for not having the school insignia on his shirt pocket. “I promised to bring it tomorrow,” he said. “I thought it wasn’t so serious and I put on another shirt.” But principals, like Vicky Alvarado at the Francisco Menéndez Nation Institute, emphasized that the goal isn’t exclusion, but compliance. “The students always get in, their entrance is never prohibited, what we do is call attention so they comply.”
Support for the directive has come from some unexpected quarters. The El Salvador Public School Teachers Union, while backing the new guidance, has called for updates to child protection laws that they say make it difficult to impose discipline. “Many teachers, in a desire to achieve order and discipline in schools, were reported and many were punished,” said Paz Zetino Gutiérrez, the union’s secretary. The union’s position highlights a tension familiar to educators worldwide: how to balance student rights with the need for order and safety.
But the policy hasn’t been without controversy. Human rights lawyer Jayme Magaña took to X to voice concerns about the burden these requirements place on families with limited resources. “If moms can’t pay the barbershop, if their homes don’t have (running) water, (or) electricity to iron, if they haven’t given them shoes, put yourself in that position Minister (Trigueros), and dress like a civilian,” Magaña wrote. The critique highlights a pressing issue in El Salvador, where poverty remains widespread and even small expenses can strain family budgets.
President Bukele, never one to shy from a social media spat, responded to critics late Thursday, posting a video of girls asking Minister Trigueros for her autograph. He accused detractors of exaggerating the policy’s impact, noting that many students seemed enthusiastic—or at least unbothered—by the new rules. It was, in his view, another example of “haters” misrepresenting his administration’s efforts.
The debate over student dress codes isn’t unique to El Salvador. Attempts to regulate hairstyles and uniforms in U.S. school districts, for instance, have often sparked fierce debate, with critics arguing that such policies can disproportionately affect students of color and suppress cultural or religious expression. In El Salvador, however, the context is shaped by a history of gang violence and a government determined to reassert control over public spaces, including schools.
For now, school gates across the country remain scenes of order—and, for some, anxiety. Students line up, parents watch, and principals stand ready to enforce the rules. Whether this approach will yield the disciplined, gang-free schools the government envisions remains to be seen. But one thing is clear: in El Salvador’s schools, the winds of change are blowing, and everyone—from students to ministers—is feeling their force.
As the first week of the new policy wraps up, the country finds itself at a crossroads: balancing the promise of order against the realities of everyday life, and weighing the cost of discipline—both literal and figurative—against the hope for a safer, more stable future.
