Infections spreading through patients exposed to disaster for days
On June 24, two earthquakes struck Venezuela in rapid succession, killing thousands and exposing a healthcare system already hollowed out by years of economic collapse and mass emigration. The disaster did not create Venezuela's medical crisis — it simply stripped away what little remained to conceal it. With one-third of the country's doctors gone, hospitals damaged, and displaced populations crowded into unsanitary shelters, physicians now warn that the true death toll will be written not in rubble, but in the infections, outbreaks, and untreated chronic illnesses that follow. What unfolds in the coming weeks will test whether a nation can be rescued twice — once from the earth, and once from its own unraveling.
- Two earthquakes killed at least 2,295 people and injured more than 11,000, leaving tens of thousands displaced in crowded, waterless shelters where disease conditions are already forming.
- Hospitals operating at the edge of collapse before the disaster now face a surge of gravely injured patients — surgeons lack orthopedic hardware, medicated gauze, and basic emergency supplies, and have resorted to posting donation requests on social media.
- Over 40,600 people remain unaccounted for, while videos of security forces looting rubble have deepened public fury toward a government already under scrutiny for its disaster response.
- International teams from 50 countries, including U.S. military personnel and rescuers from nations with no diplomatic ties to Venezuela, are racing to find survivors — and still pulling people alive from the wreckage days later.
- Doctors warn a second wave is coming: thousands of newly homeless patients without medication for diabetes, asthma, and hypertension will soon arrive at hospitals already overwhelmed, sicker for the delay.
On June 24, two earthquakes struck Venezuela in quick succession, killing at least 2,295 people and injuring more than 11,000. A week later, doctors assessing the damage found thousands of displaced Venezuelans sleeping in crowded shelters without clean water, surrounded by conditions that aid workers feared would soon generate a second catastrophe.
The immediate trauma — crushed limbs, internal injuries, collapsed buildings — was only the beginning. At Hospital del Oeste in Caracas, trauma surgeon Eugenio Cova described treating patients already developing infections after days of exposure, while operating in makeshift rooms because parts of the hospital itself were inaccessible. UN humanitarian coordinator Veronique Durroux warned that heat, debris, and destroyed waste systems were creating ideal conditions for vector-borne disease to spread through the hardest-hit communities.
But the earthquakes had not built this crisis — they had simply revealed it. Over a decade of economic collapse had gutted Venezuela's medical infrastructure. Roughly one-third of the country's 60,000 registered physicians had emigrated. By WHO standards, Venezuela needed around 84,000 doctors; it had approximately 40,000. A 2025 survey found shortages exceeding 30 percent of emergency supplies and over 70 percent of operating room materials. Now 38 hospitals had been damaged by the earthquakes, and a nationwide ambulance shortage meant many of the injured arrived at hospitals in the backs of pickup trucks — ordinary citizens filling the void left by the state.
Jaime Lorenzo of United Doctors of Venezuela warned of a second patient wave still to come: thousands of newly homeless Venezuelans had gone days without medications for asthma, diabetes, and hypertension. When they finally reached hospitals, they would arrive sicker and more fragile.
The international response was substantial. The United States deployed 900 military personnel, repaired the main airport runway for humanitarian flights, and offered $300 million in assistance. Fifty international rescue teams arrived, including from Ecuador and Israel. Survivors were still being found — including a toddler pulled from rubble after six days. Yet the $300 million represented a fraction of the estimated $6.7 billion in material damage. Acting President Delcy Rodríguez faced mounting criticism, compounded by videos appearing to show security forces looting rubble while families waited for news of the missing.
With more than 40,600 people still unaccounted for, the doctors who remained knew what was coming. Unless water systems were restored, infections controlled, and supply chains rebuilt, the earthquakes would continue to claim lives long after the ground had stopped shaking.
On June 24, two earthquakes struck Venezuela in quick succession, killing at least 2,295 people and injuring more than 11,000. By the time doctors began assessing the damage a week later, the scale of the catastrophe had become clear: thousands of displaced Venezuelans were sleeping in crowded shelters or outdoors, without access to clean water, surrounded by sanitary conditions so poor that aid workers feared the worst was still ahead.
The immediate crisis—crushed limbs, internal injuries, the acute trauma of collapsed buildings—was only the opening act. Eugenio Cova, who runs the trauma unit at Hospital del Oeste Dr. José Gregorio Hernández in Caracas, described what he saw coming: infections spreading through patients who had been exposed to the disaster for days, complicated by the fact that his surgical team was already operating in makeshift rooms because parts of the hospital itself had become inaccessible. Veronique Durroux, the United Nations humanitarian coordinator for Latin America and the Caribbean, pointed to another looming threat. The heat, the debris, the destroyed waste management systems—all of it created conditions for vector-borne diseases to flourish in the hardest-hit communities.
But the earthquakes had not created Venezuela's healthcare crisis. They had simply exposed it with brutal clarity. For more than a decade, as the country's economy collapsed under mismanagement, corruption, and falling oil prices, its medical system had been hollowed out. More than 7.7 million Venezuelans had fled since 2013, among them roughly one-third of the country's 60,000 registered physicians. According to Dr. Huníades Urbina, a pediatrics association board member, Venezuela needed about 84,000 doctors by World Health Organization standards. It had roughly 40,000. The hospitals that remained were operating on fumes: a 2025 survey found shortages of more than 30 percent of emergency supplies and more than 70 percent of supplies in operating rooms. Laboratories were either closed or performing only basic functions.
Now those depleted hospitals faced a surge of thousands of gravely injured people. Cova's team lacked the screws and plates needed for orthopedic surgery. They lacked medicated gauze to prevent infections. Doctors had begun posting their supply needs on social media, begging for donations. Across the country, 38 hospitals had been damaged or compromised by the earthquakes. There was also a nationwide shortage of ambulances, forcing many injured Venezuelans to arrive at hospitals in the backs of pickup trucks—a detail that spoke to something larger: ordinary citizens, feeling abandoned by their government, had become the backbone of the rescue effort.
Jaime Lorenzo, director of United Doctors of Venezuela, a nonprofit network of medical professionals, warned of a second wave of patients that would arrive once the immediate chaos subsided. Thousands of newly homeless Venezuelans had gone days without their regular medications for asthma, diabetes, and high blood pressure. When they finally reached hospitals, they would be sicker, more fragile, and the system would have to absorb them too.
The international response had been swift. The United States deployed 900 military personnel to support rescue and relief operations, repaired the main airport runway to allow humanitarian flights, and positioned naval assets offshore. An additional 100 State Department personnel were sent to coordinate efforts. The Trump administration offered $300 million in assistance through aid groups and the United Nations. Fifty other international teams arrived from countries including Ecuador and Israel—nations without formal diplomatic relations with Venezuela, yet willing to send rescuers anyway. Against the odds, they continued finding survivors; on one day, a toddler who had been trapped for six days was pulled from the rubble.
Yet the $300 million in aid represented only a fraction of what the country needed. The United Nations Development Program estimated material damage at over $6.7 billion. The government of acting President Delcy Rodríguez, who had taken office with U.S. backing after Nicolás Maduro was ousted in January, faced mounting criticism over its handling of the disaster. Videos circulating on social media appeared to show security officers looting rubble—taking dollars, appliances, personal belongings—while families waited by collapsed buildings for news of missing loved ones. The Interior Ministry dismissed and detained four police officials in response, though the videos could not be independently verified. As of Wednesday, more than 40,600 people remained unaccounted for, leaving families in an agonizing limbo.
U.S. officials defended the Venezuelan government's response, with General Francis Donovan, head of U.S. Southern Command, arguing that decades of neglect had made the challenge harder for any leader to manage. But the doctors on the ground knew what was coming. Unless the infections could be controlled, unless the water systems could be restored, unless the supply chains could be rebuilt, the earthquakes would continue killing for weeks and months to come.
Citações Notáveis
The issue we foresee just around the corner is the infections that patients who have been exposed to the disaster for the longest time might bring. We've already gone through a period of complex trauma, but now it's complicated by infections.— Eugenio Cova, trauma unit head at Hospital del Oeste Dr. José Gregorio Hernández
The earthquakes once again highlight the Venezuelan government's inability to provide an adequate health care system that meets the needs of the Venezuelan people.— Dr. Huníades Urbina, pediatrics association board member
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does the medical crisis matter more than the immediate death toll?
Because the 2,295 dead happened in an instant. The infections, the disease outbreaks, the patients without their chronic medications—those will unfold over weeks and weeks. The earthquakes were the blow; what comes next is the slow bleed.
But Venezuela's hospitals were already failing before the earthquakes. Why didn't that get fixed?
Because it would have required sustained investment and political will over years. It's easier to ignore a slow collapse than to rebuild it. And by the time anyone wanted to, a third of the doctors had already left the country.
Where did they go?
Everywhere. The United States, Colombia, Spain. Anywhere that offered stability and a salary that wasn't worthless. You can't blame them—they were watching their own country come apart.
So the earthquakes just happened to hit a country that was already broken?
Not just broken. Specifically broken in ways that made this disaster worse. No ambulances. No supplies. No redundancy. A hospital system that was already rationing gauze.
What happens to the people without medication for diabetes or asthma?
Some of them will stabilize. Some will get sicker. Some will die from complications that would have been preventable if they'd had their pills. That's the second wave the doctors are bracing for.
Is there any sign the government is preparing for it?
The international teams are there. The U.S. military is there. But the Venezuelan government itself? The criticism suggests they're struggling to manage even the immediate crisis.