SOYAPANGO, El Salvador — The soldiers arrived at dawn, shutting down an entire municipality in San Salvador, the capital of El Salvador, stopping cars, forcing passengers off buses and ordering men to lift their shirts and show that they didn’t have gang tattoos.
For many in this once gang-infested community the show of force was welcome.
“Before, it was the gangsters that were in charge,” said María, a shop owner who asked that her last name not be published for her safety. “Now, there are almost no gang members.’’
When an eruption of gang violence in March left more than 60 people dead during the country’s single bloodiest day since El Salvador’s civil war 30 years ago, the government of President Nayib Bukele moved quickly to declare a state of emergency, suspending key constitutional rights.
The measure was supposed to be temporary, a means to quickly restore public order and give the government greater latitude to impose a nationwide crackdown on organized crime groups, like the brutal MS-13 gang, that had long terrorized this Central American nation.
But more than eight months later, the emergency decree is still in place, the military patrols the streets, mass arrests are a daily occurrence and jails are filled to the brim, edging El Salvador toward what is effectively a police state.
Now a report from Human Rights Watch to be released on Wednesday offers a comprehensive review of Mr. Bukele’s heavy-handed approach, documenting a campaign of arbitrary arrests, torture and deaths in custody under the state of emergency.
“It’s the perfect recipe for abuses and violations of human rights,” said Juan Pappier, a senior researcher at Human Rights Watch.
The president’s press secretary did not respond to a request for comment, but Mr. Bukele, in a speech to the National Police last month, rejected international criticism of his tactics and praised law enforcement for tackling crime.
“You are bringing peace to the Salvadoran people,’’ he said.
Despite the condemnation outside El Salvador and among rights groups at home, Mr. Bukele’s policy appears to be achieving some of its goals: Homicides have dropped sharply, while neighborhoods once so gang infested they were considered unsafe to enter are experiencing a relative calm.
Between January and the end of October, 463 people were killed in El Salvador, a 50 percent drop compared with the same period last year, according to a national police document obtained by Human Rights Watch and a Salvadoran advocacy group, Cristosal.
The emerging picture underscores a fundamental tension: In a country traumatized by chronic gang warfare, the crackdown has brought a respite from the violence, outweighing fears of democratic backsliding and giving an increasingly autocratic leader leverage to carry out his policies.
“I couldn’t come into this neighborhood because of the gangsters,” said Ricardo, a 37-year-old street merchant in the Las Margaritas neighborhood of San Salvador, who asked that his last name not be revealed for his security.
Extortion, a key revenue stream for gangs, has also appeared to have plunged. According to the country’s security minister, extortion cases have fallen by 80 percent since the state of emergency began. The figure is difficult to verify independently, but several business leaders interviewed by The New York Times said extortion had gone down significantly.
While a lack of transparency by the Bukele government makes it hard to assess the credibility of official crime data, experts say there is little doubt that there has been a notable reduction in violence since the start of the emergency decree.
“This crackdown has been unprecedented,” said Tiziano Breda, Central America analyst at the International Crisis Group, an independent research organization. “Without a doubt this has weakened the gangs.”
But if criminal groups have been crippled, so too have many of El Salvador’s civil liberties.
Since March, the Legislative Assembly, controlled by Mr. Bukele’s party, has approved legislation allowing judges to imprison children as young as 12, limiting freedom of expression, expanding the use of pretrial detention and permitting prosecutors and judges to try people in absentia.
Yet, Mr. Bukele’s approval ratings, according to polls, have remained above 80 percent, suggesting that many Salvadorans crave greater safety, even if it means a more repressive system.
“They were so desperate because of the levels of violence and the control of the gangs,” said José Miguel Cruz, an expert on El Salvador’s gang violence at Florida International University, “that they will accept that sort of deal with the devil.”
Still, even if there is less violence in El Salvador, such a dip is likely to be temporary without addressing the root causes, including grinding poverty and corruption, some analysts warn.
And indiscriminately imprisoning young men who may have done nothing wrong alongside gang members could result in a large population of disaffected youth who might make easier recruits for gangs.
“Similar policies of mass incarceration and an iron fist in El Salvador and the rest of the region have shown that in the long term they don’t achieve sustainable results and bring back surges of violence,’’ Mr. Pappier said.
The state of emergency has been used as a blunt instrument, according to the Human Rights Watch report, with police commanders establishing a quota system requiring officers to arrest a certain number of people every day.
The prison system is at a breaking point, with close to 100,000 people behind bars as of November, more than three times the capacity of the country’s penal system. At least 90 people have died in custody since the state of emergency began. Human Rights Watch documented at least two cases where the authorities appeared to have failed to provide detainees necessary medication.
The crackdown has swept up not just gang members, but also children, women and the physically and mentally disabled. Some residents in poor neighborhoods who once feared gang members, say they are more fearful of the Salvadoran police.
“The government can do many worse things to you,” said Hilda Solorzano, 34, who lives in the town of Jucuapa, in the eastern part of the country.
Ms. Solorzano’s younger brother Adrián, 30, was arrested in April and accused of terrorism. “It was a shock when the police arrived and said that they had to take him away,” she said, adding that her brother had done nothing wrong.
Adrián was eventually transferred to a notorious prison commonly known as Mariona, near the capital, according to his sister, before being ordered held for six months in pretrial detention.
Then on July 5, representatives from a funeral home came to the family’s home and gave them the news: Adrián was dead, strangled to death while in custody. It was unclear how he was killed or by whom.
Ms. Solorzano, who identified her brother’s body, said the government has provided no explanation and denied the family’s request for an official autopsy report.
“At night, I go to bed and close my eyes and see the images of when I went to pick him up,” she said.
Now Ms. Solorzano fears that because she has been speaking out about the case she too may become a target.
“When I leave the house to go to work, I’m afraid,” she said. “I’m afraid that one day they’re going to say, ‘You too are under arrest.’”
Bryan Avelar reported from Soyapango, El Salvador, and Oscar Lopez from Mexico City.