Marked men with no place to hide
The Honduran government's crackdown on street gangs has been swift, severe, and - to the relief of the public - successful. But some wonder if so heavy-handed an approach is really the best model for gang control.
The government of Honduras is savoring a victory. Exactly one year ago, it declared war on the "mareros" - members of street gangs accused of terrorizing the country. Today, Honduras's mareros - once estimated at 30,000 strong - are for the most part dead, imprisoned, or in hiding.
But even as the country celebrates its freedom from violence and fear, there are those who look with dismay at what has taken place in Honduras.
Yes, they say, the brutality of gang rule has been checked, allowing the country's 6.6 million citizens to return to normal life. But, these critics add, a high price has been paid for this new-found peace. Civil liberties have been eroded and, they worry, oppressive anti-gang legislation will push the remaining gang members further to the margins of society - into a position both precarious and menacing.
In the dusty streets of La Union - one of the most dangerous neighborhoods of San Pedro Sula, the country's industrial capital - can be found surviving members of "Mara Salvatrucha" and "Mara 18," the two principal gangs of Central America, both offshoots of Los Angeles street gangs.
"El Body," 23 years old and with 20-some murders to his name, is one of the leaders of Mara 18. Slender, with a boyish face occasionally lit by a smile, he has been a gang member for 10 years.
But today El Body is lying low. The antigang laws initiated a year ago allow the police to make arrests based simply on gang membership ("illicit association" - a crime that can carry a 9-to-12-year jail sentence) or even for simply having a tattoo.
To the mareros, the tattoos are a sign of belonging. They cover arms, hands, and even faces. But they are now also invitations to a jail sentence, El Body and his comrades explained recently. They spoke during a secretive interview granted to a foreign journalist and photographer in the darkened living room of a friend's home.
El Body - tattooed only on the back of his neck - enjoys more freedom than some of his comrades. "Little Pajalo," whose dark eyes shine out amid the blue tattoo marks on his face, says, "I can't go out in daylight with these tattoos. I feel like an animal taken in a trap."
The powerful new laws have succeeded in effectively cutting El Body and his "homies" off from their most violent illicit activities. But at the same time they've also eliminated most other options - including legitimate ones. Somehow, El Body points out, "we must survive and no one will ever give us a job."
"The maras have ceased to terrorize the people, and the neighborhoods previously closed off to the police and the Red Cross have been liberated of the plague of the gangs," says Oscar Alvarez, Honduras's minister of security, sitting in his tidy, air-conditioned office in the nation's capital.
Mr. Alvarez is today enormously popular with his fellow Hondurans. "Security is no longer the No. 1 problem in this country," he proclaims.
The antigang laws were crafted out over a period of three months and approved almost unanimously by the Honduran Congress last August, at a time when the governments of Guatemala and El Salvador were also struggling to contain gang violence.
