On June 24th, 2026, a double earthquake of magnitudes 7.2 and 7.5 devastated northern Venezuela. Just weeks later, on August 10th, an earthquake of magnitude 7.4 shook much of western and central Colombia.
Both countries faced scenes of utter destruction – but the disasters became more than simply humanitarian emergencies.
They provided revealing insights into two very different political systems under pressure, posing tests of governance, media freedom and the capacity of the state to respond.
With a strong private media, Colombia enjoyed freedom to communicate about the tragedy. Venezuela, by contrast, entered its crisis with a tightly controlled communications landscape where access to much information remains subject to state oversight.
In Colombia, the August earthquake struck just three days after Abelardo de la Espriella was sworn in as president, after delivering a speech promising a smaller state, fiscal restraint and a tougher approach to security.
In a post on social media that appeared to be shot from the presidential plane, he said he had cancelled his travel plans and was headed to Bogotá, where he would “personally” lead the disaster response. He travelled to Quibdó, the principal city in the worst-affected region, and entrusted the country to “Jesus Christ” in speeches laden with religious symbolism.
His visibility, however, did not always translate into political judgment. Even as rescue workers searched through the rubble, footage circulated showing de la Espriella celebrating his electoral victory, smiling broadly and blowing kisses in a manner reminiscent of the campaign trail. At the same time, housing minister Jaime Andrés Beltrán faced fierce criticism after photographs emerged showing him holidaying on the beaches of Santa Marta during the height of the emergency. The controversy ultimately led to calls for a motion of censure motion in parliament.
In Venezuela, the earthquakes exposed a different set of weaknesses.
State authorities accused some journalists of constructing political narratives after reporting on the experiences of aid workers, survivors and loved ones who frequently described the official response as slow, improvised and lacking essential equipment.
The challenge was magnified by the scale of the destruction. The highly centralised system in Caracas struggled to project authority. Heavy machinery and specialist rescue equipment arrived only gradually.
At a press conference, acting president Delcy Rodríguez declared a state of emergency and the creation of a commission to assess damaged housing. The government temporarily lifted restrictions on the social media platform X, formerly Twitter, to facilitate communications during the crisis.
However, it did not lift the block on more than 200 websites, many of them independent news outlets which can only reach citizens with a VPN (virtual private network).
Journalists also described experiencing interference while covering the disaster. During a live TikTok broadcast documenting rescue efforts in the capital, broadcaster Gabriel Tinoco was threatened with detention by state officials if he continued filming. ABC News Australia correspondent Kamin Gock and his team reported on intimidation and threats from state security officials during their coverage.
Colombia was not entirely free of tensions between authorities and the media. But the restrictions were narrower in scope. On August 14th, the Foundation for Press Freedom reported that police officers had obstructed reporters and lowered cameras while journalists covered rescue efforts in Cali.
Both governments viewed public order as a central challenge, but they approached it differently.
In Colombia, authorities focused on preventing looting and maintaining security around relief operations. In Venezuela, state efforts were frequently directed towards regulating and controlling private aid initiatives.
While Colombia’s deployment of troops and rescue workers remained open to voluntary assistance, Venezuela’s response increasingly placed authorities at odds with those attempting to help.
The clearest example was the case of Wilmer Antonio Cruz, known as “El topo de La Guaira”. Cruz, who said he had rescued more than 60 people from collapsed structures was detained by the police. Although he was later released, social media accounts circulated details of his previous criminal record while he remained in custody. Since posting a video thanking supporters after his release, Cruz has made no further public comment on the episode.
Huniades Urbina-Medina, president of Venezuela’s National Academy of Medicine and a government critic, said security forces attempted to remove him from a Caracas hospital and prevented him from treating victims.
Venezuela demonstrated a degree of openness to international assistance not usually associated with the regime. By the third day of the crisis, 44 international urban search-and-rescue teams from 27 countries were operating in the country. More than 200 US military personnel were also deployed, including airfield management specialists at Maiquetía airport and marines tasked with helping reopen the port of La Guaira.
Colombia, by contrast, was slower to accept external support. Offers from UN agencies, Mexico and China went unanswered in the crucial early days. Mexico’s Topos Tlatelolco rescue brigade said it had not received authorisation to enter the country. Assistance did eventually arrive, including a 22-member US expert team, Peruvian support personnel and more than 100 tonnes of humanitarian supplies from El Salvador.
The earthquakes did not create the differences between Venezuela and Colombia – but they helped expose them. As one state sought to manage a crisis in full public view, the other sought to maintain control as it confronted one. The disasters have left behind not only a humanitarian toll, but revealing insights into the political systems that underpin them.