Just over 48 hours ago, on June 24, 2026, two earthquakes measuring 7.2 and 7.5 struck Venezuela only 39 seconds apart. The true death toll remains unknown, regardless of the latest official count of approximately 920 fatalities, more than 3,360 injured, and over 4,000 families displaced. Everyone understands those numbers will rise. Nearly 40,000 people remain unaccounted for. The earthquakes brought down dozens of buildings, triggered widespread power outages, ignited fires caused by gas leaks, and spread panic across the country. The ground shook, but what was ultimately exposed was not merely the earth beneath our feet or the skeletal remains of collapsed buildings.

Natural disasters possess a particular kind of brutality because they do not lie. When the earth shakes, political rhetoric falls silent, leaving only facts behind. How many rescue teams arrive? How quickly do they respond? What equipment do they have? How many lives are saved because they arrived in time? In those moments, the State stands exposed before its citizens. Its true capacity is measured precisely when people are at their most vulnerable.

More than 380 buildings collapsed, while over 1,400 residential complexes, hospitals, and shopping centers sustained severe structural damage. Yet much of that infrastructure did not fail solely because of the earthquakes themselves. It also collapsed under the weight of years of neglect, deferred maintenance, and building codes that existed on paper but rarely in practice. In Venezuela, deteriorating infrastructure is not merely a technical issue; it is the visible consequence of a model of governance that, for decades, prioritized political control over citizens’ well-being.

Even before these earthquakes struck, nearly eight million Venezuelans already required humanitarian assistance. The United Nations’ humanitarian chief warned that “this disaster risks deepening existing vulnerabilities.” In other words, the earthquake did not hit a country prepared to withstand it. It struck a nation already in crisis, where hospitals lacked essential supplies, were severely understaffed, and operated with insufficient resources. It also struck a country whose authorities had systematically dismantled much of its network of non-governmental organizations, organizations that today could have served as experienced and trusted channels for delivering humanitarian aid to those who need it most.

Venezuela is no stranger to seismic risk. It sits atop one of the continent’s most active tectonic zones, and its history is marked by devastating earthquakes occurring with enough regularity to have fostered a permanent culture of preparedness. The most significant in recent history include the 1997 Cariaco earthquake, remembered by every Venezuelan for the collapse of a school that shocked the nation, and before that, the 1967 Caracas earthquake. The lesson has been delivered repeatedly. What has been missing is the political will to learn from it.

Disaster risk management is not a luxury reserved for wealthy nations. It is a political decision made long before tragedy strikes. It is reflected in budgets allocated to reinforce vulnerable structures, in land-use planning that prevents construction in high-risk areas—as the Vargas landslides of 1999 painfully demonstrated— in early warning systems that provide precious seconds to save lives, in properly equipped fire departments and rescue services, in resilient hospital infrastructure, and in emergency drills that teach communities how to respond. All of this requires investment, planning, and above all, a State that regards the lives of its citizens as its highest priority.

The earthquakes reached intensities of up to IX on the Modified Mercalli Intensity Scale, a category in which very few structures remain standing and widespread destruction is inevitable. Faced with shaking of that magnitude, no country escapes unscathed. The difference between an unavoidable tragedy and a preventable catastrophe lies in preparedness. When governments fail to invest in risk mitigation, they are not simply committing technical oversight; they are making a political decision about whose lives are considered expendable.

As if that were not enough, there is also the matter of immediate response. In any country with functioning institutions, the armed forces become the State’s primary instrument during a national catastrophe, not because warfare and disaster relief are the same, but because no civilian institution can match the military’s logistical capacity, heavy equipment, operational discipline, clear chains of command, and ability to deploy rapidly during the critical first hours. The first 72 hours after a major earthquake are the golden window for saving lives, and few institutions are better equipped to operate within that timeframe than armed forces that are properly trained, adequately equipped, and ultimately accountable to the citizens they are meant to protect.

In Venezuela, however, that was not the case. One of the clearest indicators of the State’s capacity has been its inability to respond, making international assistance not merely welcome but indispensable. What unfolded in Venezuela stands in stark contrast to what should be expected. While countries around the world mobilized military assets and rescue teams toward Venezuela, the Bolivarian National Armed Forces were conspicuously absent during the hours when their presence mattered most.

The United States Southern Command deployed aircraft to transport emergency personnel, equipment, and humanitarian aid. Argentina prepared specialized rescue teams, canine search units, and survivor recovery brigades. Mexico dispatched its renowned “Topos” rescue teams. The Dominican Republic, Chile, and El Salvador sent rescuers, equipment, and emergency supplies. Germany offered up to six A400M military transport aircraft. Switzerland mobilized a mission consisting of 80 specialists, eight search dogs, and 18 tons of equipment. The European Union coordinated assistance from several member states, including Spain and Portugal. At the time of writing, more than seventeen countries have mobilized military and rescue resources to assist the Venezuelan people.

The National Armed Forces, expanded and generously funded over many years —not exactly to protect the population— revealed their inability to fulfill their most fundamental mission when genuine public service was required. They simply did not arrive. That is the essential difference between a government that governs for its citizens and one that governs over them. The former invests in prevention, resilient infrastructure, emergency response systems, and armed forces that genuinely serve as a shield for the people. The latter invests in political loyalty and mechanisms of control designed to preserve its hold on power.

Venezuela is not an isolated case, but it is an extreme one that illustrates a broader truth. The scale of this disaster and many of its consequences are, to a significant extent, the cumulative result of years —indeed decades— of neglect. A society’s resilience cannot be improvised on the night of an earthquake. It is built or dismantled through every public budget, every policy decision, and every choice about who deserves protection and who does not.

As if the devastation itself were insufficient, the lack of preparation has been so profound that, in the middle of the emergency, authorities have attempted to compensate by imposing new bureaucratic controls over rescue operations and the distribution of humanitarian aid. Certainly, some degree of coordination is necessary to ensure that assistance reaches those who need it most. But such coordination must never come at the expense of the speed and flexibility that emergency response demands. When nothing has been planned, everything becomes improvisation.

I write this, in part, to release the anxiety, sadness, and helplessness I feel, not only because of the disaster itself, but because of the painful reality of seeing my country so neglected and so dependent on the generosity of the international community. We are profoundly grateful to the nations that have stepped forward. Incredible as it may seem, they mobilized human and technical resources more quickly than Venezuela’s own government.

Yet even amid such tragedy, human nature reveals both its finest and its darkest impulses. There are those who rush forward with generosity and compassion, determined to help however they can. And there are those who seek personal gain from collective suffering, from opportunists encouraging the looting of pharmacies and markets, to individuals attempting to monopolize donations and humanitarian supplies at collection centers, perhaps hoping to profit from what is being gathered across the country and around the world. The damage they inflict extends far beyond material loss.

The earth spoke on June 24. The State responded with what it had. And what it possessed, both materially and morally, speaks volumes. Looking into this mirror of our own calamity, I can only hope that no other country in the region will one day find its own reflection there.

Photo: AFP