On El Salvador’s Pacific coast, the sound of crashing waves and the laughter of surfers fill the air at El Tunco beach—a scene that would have been unimaginable just a few years ago. Back then, the country’s notorious gangs held sway, making even the most idyllic spots dangerous for locals and tourists alike. But today, thanks to a dramatic—and controversial—government crackdown, the country is seeing a tourism boom, with 4.1 million visitors in 2025, a 60 percent surge from pre-Bukele days, according to GlobalPost.
This transformation is partly credited to President Nayib Bukele, whose hardline approach has seen tens of thousands of suspected gang members locked away. The numbers are staggering: homicide rates, which once rivaled those of war zones at over 100 per 100,000 people, have plummeted by 98 percent. The streets are safer, and the beaches—like those in Oriente Salvaje on the east coast—are thriving with surf tourism. Yet, as the world looks on in admiration, critics warn that this newfound peace has come at a steep cost.
“El Salvador is changing and Central America too,” President Bukele declared on X, sharing clips of surfers riding the country’s famous waves. The government’s efforts to rebrand El Salvador as a tourist destination even included hosting international pop sensation Shakira for five concerts in San Salvador. But not everyone is celebrating. A group of prisoners’ relatives penned an open letter to the singer, stating, “In El Salvador, women, mothers and relatives of innocent victims who suffer imprisonment, torture, and death, forced evictions, persecution, and rigged trials also weep.”
Indeed, the government’s crackdown has swept up 91,000 people, with about 8,000 later found to be innocent and released. Many were detained without due process or access to legal counsel, and hundreds never made it to court, dying while awaiting justice. Journalists who tried to chronicle these abuses have fled the country, according to author Ioan Grillo, who tracks narco-crime in the region. Still, the crackdown enjoys broad support at home. Vice President Félix Ulloa told GlobalPost, “The people want it. They feel protected.”
El Salvador’s approach has made waves beyond its borders. Neighboring countries like Costa Rica and Honduras, grappling with their own gang crises, are eyeing Bukele’s tactics. In a symbolic gesture, Bukele recently visited Costa Rica at the invitation of President Rodrigo Chaves to break ground on a new prison modeled after El Salvador’s massive 40,000-capacity Terrorism Confinement Center (CECOT). “(It’s) a radical change,” said López, an engineer from Limón, Costa Rica, to the Tico Times. “We’d like to take this step.”
But beneath the surface, the story is more complicated. According to World Politics Review, Bukele’s security forces may not deserve all the credit for the drop in violence. The publication suggests that the president reached a quiet détente with gang leaders, granting them prison privileges in exchange for reduced violence. Meanwhile, American officials have sanctioned Bukele’s prisons chief for allegedly collaborating with organized crime to sell Covid-19 relief aid on the black market, Reuters reported. Honduras, for its part, tried to replicate El Salvador’s state of emergency but failed to achieve similar results, as El País documented. The lesson? Crackdowns may only work where authorities have struck deals with gangs, rather than through brute force alone.
And while the streets are safer, peace has not automatically translated into prosperity. Poverty remains widespread, and living costs continue to rise, despite Bukele’s much-touted efforts to leverage cryptocurrency to boost the economy. The president, however, remains undeterred. “I don’t care that they call me dictator,” he said last year. “I prefer they call me dictator than see how they kill Salvadorans in the streets. … Salvadorans can finally live in peace. Let them keep arguing semantics, we’re going to continue to be focused on results.”
Meanwhile, on the country’s eastern shores, a different story of resilience and innovation is unfolding. In the late 1990s, surfer Rodrigo Barraza discovered a pristine break in Oriente Salvaje, far from the violence and crowds. By 2004, he’d opened a small hotel and, with friends, founded a tourism association to protect the area’s unique dry tropical forest, rivers, and mangroves. Oriente Salvaje now boasts 19 kilometers of world-class surf breaks, like Las Flores and Punta Mango, and has become a lifeline for the local economy.
“Surf tourism is the backbone of our local economy,” Barraza says, as reported by The Guardian. “However, this same dependence makes us highly vulnerable to climate-related disruptions.” Intense tropical storms increasingly threaten the region, flooding roads, churning up waves, and keeping surfers—and their spending—away. Concerned for the community’s future, Barraza and Save the Waves, an international nonprofit, made a bold move in 2023: they took out a parametric insurance policy for Oriente Salvaje.
This isn’t your average insurance. Parametric policies pay out automatically when specific weather thresholds—like rainfall or wind speed—are exceeded, providing rapid support to those affected. The model, previously used for coral reef restoration after hurricanes, is being tested for the first time in the surfing world at Oriente Salvaje. “We scoured the world for places that were easily disrupted by a climate event and had a large dependence on the surf economy,” said Nik Strong-Cvetich, Save the Waves’ CEO. Oriente Salvaje was the perfect fit.
Backed by 40 years of rainfall data and a decade of surfer visit records, the project found that storms directly correlate with drops in tourism. A survey of 50 local businesses revealed that, on average, 70 percent of their income depends on surf tourism. Many are informal operators—photographers, guides, boat drivers—especially vulnerable to weather shocks. “People can predict their income based on the surf report,” Strong-Cvetich remarked.
The insurance payout, triggered by extreme weather, will be distributed to hundreds or even thousands of local beneficiaries. Save the Waves aims to have the pilot program running by June, just in time for the rainy surf season. There are hurdles, of course. “El Salvador is a developing country and we don’t have an insurance culture—people don’t even have health insurance—so there’s a lot of work you have to do on the ground to bring people on board,” said Angelo Picardo, Save the Waves’ local coordinator. Funding the premiums without burdening small businesses is another challenge. The hope is that the government, which has invested millions in surf tourism since 2019, will help cover the costs.
Looking ahead, Save the Waves wants to refine the policy to include payouts for ecosystem restoration, such as rebuilding coastal mangroves to protect surf quality and buffer against storm runoff. “We can protect the environment using surfing as the hook,” Strong-Cvetich explained. But as Swenja Surminski of the London School of Economics cautions, insurance alone isn’t enough—broader strategies like disaster planning and ecosystem restoration are needed to build true resilience.
For now, though, optimism prevails in Oriente Salvaje. “Everybody’s positive. There’s nothing but good things to hear from this,” Barraza said. “We just hope that it turns out to be the best that it can be.”
El Salvador’s journey, from a nation haunted by violence to a surf haven experimenting with climate resilience, is a study in contrasts—one that leaves the world watching, and perhaps, learning.