The ground shook along Venezuela’s northern coast yesterday, not just from tectonic plates but from the weight of a nation already in freefall. A 6.8 magnitude earthquake struck near the city of Cumaná, levelling thousands of homes and leaving at least 200 dead, according to early reports. For a country where hyperinflation has wiped out wages and hospitals run without running water, this disaster is not a break from the crisis: it is the crisis made flesh.
The epicentre lay some 30 miles offshore, but the waves of destruction reached deep into the state of Sucre. In the fishing towns that line the coast, families huddle in rubble, clawing through concrete with bare hands. The state-run oil company, PDVSA, has halted operations at the nearby PetroCumaná refinery, a rare source of hard currency. But the real economy here is not barrels of crude: it is bags of rice, bottles of water, and the desperate search for medicine.
"We have nothing," said María González, a 54-year-old widow whose home collapsed on her two grandchildren. She stood outside what was left of a municipal clinic, waiting for aid that may never come. "The government says help is on the way, but we have heard that before."
Indeed, the Maduro regime has proclaimed a state of emergency, deploying troops to the region. But international aid groups warn that the country’s infrastructure is in such a state of disrepair that even basic relief efforts may fail. Roads are cracked, bridges are down, and the power grid – already prone to blackouts – is blinking out across the state. In Caracas, officials have promised shipments of food and medicine, but similar pledges have evaporated in the past.
For the people of Sucre, this earthquake compounds years of hardship. The average monthly wage is now less than $5. A bag of corn flour costs $10. The currency has been devalued so many times that cash is often weighed rather than counted. The crisis has already driven 7 million Venezuelans to flee the country. Those who remain are the poorest, the sickest, and the most vulnerable.
International solidarity is slow to materialise. The United Nations has pledged $15 million in emergency aid, but logistical hurdles are immense. The US, which maintains sanctions on the Maduro government, has offered only technical assistance. The European Union has called for a humanitarian corridor. Meanwhile, in the rubble of Cumaná, the only aid workers many locals see are from the Catholic Church or local mutual aid networks.
"The government cannot even manage the electricity grid," said Luis Rojas, a union leader from the state’s electrical workers’ union. "How can they rebuild a city?" His union, once a pillar of the ruling party, has turned critical as blackouts have become routine. "We are not asking for politics. We are asking for light, for water, for dignity."
This is the real economy of disaster: not the balance sheets of oil companies but the struggle of mothers to find clean water for their children. The earthquake did not create Venezuela’s collapse. It merely exposed its depth. And as aftershocks continue to ripple through the region, one question hangs in the air: how much more can a people already broken by hyperinflation and hunger endure?
In the hours ahead, the world will watch to see whether aid reaches those who need it. But for María González and her grandchildren, the clock is ticking. "We need a miracle," she said, clutching a photo of her husband who died in the quake. "Or at least a bag of rice."
