On June 24, 2026, two consecutive earthquakes measuring 7.2 and 7.5 magnitude—the strongest to strike Venezuela in more than a century—devastated the country's northern coast, including the city of La Guaira and parts of Caracas. This episode features Carolina Jiménez Sandoval, WOLA's president, who was visiting Venezuela when the earthquakes hit and subsequently traveled to the hardest-hit zone, and Laura Dib, director of WOLA's Venezuela program, who has closely tracked the humanitarian response and U.S. policy dimensions. Carolina offers a firsthand account of the disaster and its aftermath. She describes the profound isolation caused by the Venezuelan government's pre-existing censorship regime—with platforms like X, CNN, and independent media blocked—which left citizens unable to access life-saving information during the critical first hours. Traveling to La Guaira, she found scenes closer to "a war zone" than a natural disaster, with collapsed buildings, others on the brink of collapse, precarious improvised shelters, and families living in the open air without adequate water, food, or assistance. Above all, she encountered a pervasive sense of abandonment. A central theme of the conversation is the "hollowness" of the Venezuelan state, laid bare by years of corruption, authoritarian misrule, and the emigration of some eight million people—including doctors, nurses, and engineers. Carolina notes that the armed forces, which acted as first responders during earlier tragedies, now function largely as a repressive and surveilling force, controlling access to disaster sites rather than aiding survivors. Laura provides data and policy analysis. The government, through National Assembly head Jorge Rodríguez—brother of de facto ruler Delcy Rodríguez—reports roughly 3,500 deaths and 16,000 injured, though the U.S. Geological Survey estimates the toll could range between 10,000 and 100,000. The UN estimates direct infrastructure damage at $37 billion. Laura situates the disaster within a longstanding humanitarian emergency and explains how the 2025 dismantling of USAID reduced disaster-response capacity, even as the U.S. pledged $300 million, a figure dwarfed by the $1.15 billion pledged after Haiti's 2010 earthquake. Laura and Carolina discuss the uncomfortable U.S. alignment with the unelected Delcy Rodríguez government, whose constitutional legitimacy has expired without new elections. They argue the disaster has badly set back the Trump administration's three-stage transition plan and revealed the state's incapacity to protect its citizens. Notably, Venezuelan social movements are now directing their demands at the U.S. government rather than their own institutions. Venezuela's beleagured civil society is a bright spot. Despite an anti-NGO law criminalizing foreign funding, organizations like Caritas and Fe y Alegría, alongside diaspora networks and ordinary citizens, have organized shelters, distributed supplies, and built databases to track the missing and separated children. A reputable site for donations to disaster relief is Donar Seguro. WOLA recommends that aid flow through transparent, accountable channels; that the anti-NGO law be repealed; that social media and VPN blockades be lifted; that the U.S.-run oil-revenue fund be used transparently for Venezuelans' benefit; and that the Trump administration reinstate Temporary Protected Status (TPS) and halt deportations of Venezuelans in the United States. A deportation flight of 146 people arrived on the day of the earthquake, most of whom died in a hotel—a site the political police blocked Carolina from visiting. Venezuela's reconstruction will require a long-term commitment and, crucially, the rebuilding of public trust. This can only happen in the context of a genuine democratic transition.
