They came to eat arepas and take pictures to make it look like they were working.
Three days after two powerful earthquakes struck Venezuela's coastal state of La Guaira in rapid succession, the confirmed death toll had reached 1,430, with nearly 69,000 people still unaccounted for — a catastrophe unfolding at the intersection of natural devastation and institutional failure. Rescue teams from six nations joined desperate families and volunteers sifting through rubble by hand, while the critical 72-hour window for finding survivors alive drew toward its close. The disaster has exposed deep fractures between a government projecting control and a population left to grieve and dig largely on its own, raising questions that will outlast the rubble about what societies owe one another in their most broken hours.
- Two earthquakes struck within moments of each other — magnitudes 7.2 and 7.5 — collapsing entire neighborhoods along Venezuela's coast and burying tens of thousands beneath concrete and dust.
- With nearly 69,000 people missing and the 72-hour survival window closing fast, every hour of delayed or performative response translated directly into lives lost.
- Residents erupted in fury as government soldiers were seen taking selfies at collapse sites rather than digging — locals physically blocked excavators from leaving and pulled operators from their cabins in desperation.
- International rescue teams from Mexico, the United States, Brazil, El Salvador, and France arrived and pushed into the rubble alongside volunteers, calling into darkness for any sign of movement.
- Amid the chaos, small acts of grace endured — an 18-day-old infant lifted from a damaged building, a trapped woman reassured she would not face the collapse alone, a grieving sister who widened her search to any survivor, not just her own.
Three days after two earthquakes struck Venezuela's La Guaira state in rapid succession — first a 7.2, then a 7.5 — the confirmed death toll had climbed to 1,430, with nearly 69,000 people reported missing. Entire neighborhoods had been flattened, and families worked alongside volunteers with shovels, rope, and bare hands, clawing through broken concrete and calling names into the dust. By Saturday, rescue teams from Mexico, the United States, Brazil, El Salvador, and France had begun arriving, pushing into collapsed buildings alongside desperate locals and shouting into the darkness for any sign of life.
But the effort was shadowed by fury at the government's response. Acting President Delcy Rodríguez announced on state television that more than 14,000 military and police personnel were deployed — yet people on the ground said they saw little evidence of this. Mileidy Romero, searching through wreckage in Caraballeada, described bodies including newborns that remained unrecovered. Residents blocked an excavator from leaving a collapse site after watching state workers photograph themselves in front of flattened buildings and walk away. "They came to eat arepas and take pictures," said one searcher who had been digging for three days. "They didn't even get their uniforms dirty like we have."
The scale of the disaster was immense. The International Organization for Migration estimated over 6 million people could be affected, with 2 million in Caracas alone. Aftershocks continued to rattle the region, and Simón Bolívar International Airport sustained severe damage, though one runway remained operational. A U.S. Navy transport ship waited offshore to receive airlifted survivors needing medical care.
As the 72-hour survival window neared its close, rescuers pressed on. Mexican military teams pushed their heads into holes in pancaked concrete, calling out for anyone still alive to make noise. An 18-day-old infant was carefully handed down from a damaged building after twelve hours of searching. A 69-year-old woman pulled from the rubble asked for a Coca-Cola. A rescuer held the hand of a terrified elderly woman trapped beneath debris and told her: "If it falls, I'll be here with you." One woman who had spent days searching for her sister and infant nephew shifted her focus as international teams arrived. "It doesn't matter who it is," she said. "If there is anyone alive, let's get them out."
Three days after two earthquakes tore through Venezuela's coastal state of La Guaira, the confirmed death toll had climbed to 1,430, with nearly 69,000 people reported missing. The ground had buckled twice in quick succession—first a 7.2 magnitude tremor, then a 7.5—leaving entire neighborhoods flattened and the nation scrambling to pull survivors from the rubble before the critical window for rescue closed.
In the seaside town of Caraballeada and across La Guaira, families and volunteers worked with whatever tools they could find: shovels, heavy equipment, rope, their bare hands. They clawed through mountains of broken concrete, calling out names into the dust. International rescue teams had begun arriving by Saturday—crews from Mexico, the United States, Brazil, El Salvador, and France—climbing through the collapsed buildings alongside desperate locals, occasionally hearing movement beneath the debris, shouting into the darkness for any sign of life.
But the rescue effort was shadowed by anger at the government's response. Acting President Delcy Rodríguez announced on state television that more than 14,000 military and police personnel were patrolling the disaster zone, now cordoned off and accessible only with special permits. Yet people on the ground said they saw little evidence of this presence. Mileidy Romero, searching through the wreckage in Caraballeada, spoke of bodies she and others had located—including newborns—that remained unrecovered. "At 8 p.m. yesterday there were people alive down there, and they haven't bothered to rescue them," she said. "What are they waiting for?" The frustration boiled over when residents blocked an excavator from leaving a collapse site and pulled its operator from the cabin after watching state workers take selfies in front of flattened buildings and leave without assisting.
Yeison Marcano, part of the search effort, described the government's presence as performative. "They came to eat arepas and take pictures to make it look like they were working," he said. "They didn't even get their uniforms dirty like we have. We've been here for three days." The anger was raw enough that moments of chaos erupted—a man lunged at a firefighter, shouting and cursing, while rescuers called for silence to listen for trapped survivors. Nearby, an elderly man pulled from a collapsed public housing building was so disoriented he fought with medical personnel, screaming for his family as they loaded him into a truck.
The scale of the disaster was staggering. The International Organization for Migration estimated that over 6 million people could be affected, with some 2 million in the capital, Caracas, alone. The destruction had been amplified by the earthquakes' shallow depth and rapid succession; smaller aftershocks, including one measuring 4.8 on Saturday, continued to rattle the region for days. Simón Bolívar International Airport, which serves Caracas, sustained severe damage, though one runway remained operational as U.S. teams worked to restore it. A U.S. Navy transport ship was positioned offshore, ready to receive airlifted survivors needing medical care.
Aid workers and rescue teams considered the first 48 to 72 hours critical for finding people alive, though survival could extend longer if trapped individuals had access to food and water. By Saturday, Venezuelan officials reported that 17 flights carrying more than 1,600 rescue personnel had landed. As the 72-hour window approached its close, every minute felt like it was slipping away. Mexican military rescuers pushed their heads into holes in the pancaked concrete, calling out: "We're rescuers from the Mexican military, if there's anyone down there still alive, make noise or scream. Now!"
Amid the devastation, small moments of humanity emerged. An 18-day-old infant, swaddled in pink blankets, was carefully handed down from a building after 12 hours of searching. A 69-year-old woman pulled from the rubble by Salvadoran teams asked for a Coca-Cola. A Venezuelan rescuer comforted an elderly woman trapped beneath debris, terrified the structure would collapse if she moved: "The roof won't cave in. If it falls, I'll be here with you." Yonahí Regalado had been calling out the names of her sister and 1-year-old nephew since the morning after the earthquakes struck, but when international aid workers began to arrive, her focus shifted. "It doesn't matter who it is, whoever, whether it's family or somebody else. If there is anyone alive, let's get them out," she said, as helicopters circled overhead. The race against time continued, with the world watching to see how many could still be saved.
Citações Notáveis
At 8 p.m. yesterday there were people alive down there, and they haven't bothered to rescue them. What are they waiting for?— Mileidy Romero, searching in Caraballeada
They came to eat arepas and take pictures to make it look like they were working. They didn't even get their uniforms dirty like we have. We've been here for three days.— Yeison Marcano, rescue volunteer
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does the government's response matter so much here? They say 14,000 personnel are deployed.
Because people are dying in the rubble while officials take pictures. When you're three days into a disaster and you've found bodies you can't recover, the gap between what's announced and what's actually happening becomes the story itself.
The international teams seem to be making a real difference though.
They are, but they arrived late and they're racing a clock that's already running out. The first 72 hours are when you pull people out alive. After that, you're mostly recovering bodies. The locals have been digging with their hands for three days.
What does it mean that this happened under a new government?
Rodríguez took office in January after Maduro was removed. Venezuela's been economically broken for over a decade. So this disaster lands on a government many people already don't trust, and now they're watching it fail in real time.
The woman asking for a Coca-Cola after being rescued—what does that moment represent?
Survival. Normalcy. The human mind reaching for something ordinary after everything has been extraordinary and terrible. It's also a reminder that people are coming out of there alive, not just bodies.
Why emphasize the selfies so much?
Because it's the visible proof of the disconnect. While people are calling out names into the dust, officials are posing. It's not just slow response—it's response that prioritizes appearance over action. That's what broke people's patience.